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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686777">The Song of the Seven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball'>WackyGoofball</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Comfort/Angst, Crime Scenes, Crimes &amp; Criminals, Detectives, Explicit Language, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Partners to Lovers, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, approach with caution, author was left unsupervised while writing crime fic for the first time, enter the madness at your own risk, if you weren't ok watching Se7en - this may not be your cup of tea, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:53:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>84,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister, detective for the behavioral analysis department fallen from grace after a case gone wrong, is given a new assignment: A series of ritualistic murders relating to the Faith of the Seven, aimed at punishing sinners for their wrongdoings.</p><p>To help him catch the murderer, his boss enlists an expert of the Seven-Pointed Star as a consultant. Brienne of Tarth works at the convent of the Silent Sisters as a forensic pathologist and is one of the leading experts in the history of the Faith. She is not only set in her belief in the God's justice but also devoted to her mission of bringing justice to the dead.</p><p>Despite their disagreements, the two have to work together to catch the murderer before it's too late. Though the unusual pair soon has to see that they may share in more than meets the eye, some good, some bad, and some things that lie somewhere in-between.</p><p>And so, they embark on a most dangerous journey leading into the darkness lurking down below...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jaime x Brienne Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Choices in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/gifts">Renee561</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone, thanks for looking into this story. You brave, brave souls. Like really, anyone reading my stuff - y'all are so courageous.</p><p>I've been obsessing about that story for a long time, as it combines some favorite aspects from movies, TV shows, and novels (i.e. Se7en, Criminal Minds, El último Catón (2001) by Matilde Asensi of which there is an English translation by Pamela Carmell named The Last Cato (2006)). And so, with this year's JB Week featuring sins and virtues, I could no longer resist the temptation and gave in to my most sinful self-indulgence.</p><p>As a fair warning: This is not just my first-ever crime fic, this genre is also not exactly my forte. I am diving into unknown territories here, so I hope the story will make up for some... inconsistencies when it comes to the crime investigation. My browser history is not too bright after all the things I looked up, I will assure you. I tried to plot the plottiest plot without making it the pottiest plot, I assure you. Also, as always: still no native and not pretending to be, roaming around unsupervised and unbeta'd. Because I am a rebel like that.</p><p>I gift this to dearest Renee, who is way too much sunshine and rainbows for a story as dark as this one, but a certain Brian commanded me, so she has to live with the consequences of my decisions. </p><p>Either way, I hope you will have fun with this... despite the story featuring some many NOT-fun things. Please approach with caution if you can't cope with some more graphic depictions of violence and death... and maybe even sex. That is yet to be determined. Though if we go down that road... you'll have to be all the braver. Anywho, please enjoy the ride down to the Seven Hells.</p><p>Much love! ♥♥♥</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Life is the sum of the choices you make and the choices made for you.</p><p>Jaime can’t remember where he originally got that sentence from. Maybe it was in some history book he leaved through absent-mindedly, not paying much attention to someone else telling other peoples’ stories as though the guy knew the motivations of some historical figures long since dead. Maybe he read it on the back of package of tea or it was one of those <em>enlightened</em> tattoos right over someone’s ass. Or maybe he heard it bellowed by some virtuecrat on that late-night radio show hosted by what Jaime can only identify as a bunch of religious fanatics, preaching about the end of the world and how only virtue can save your immortal soul from the corruption of sin.</p><p><em>Though they all just probably didn’t get laid for far too long and that’s why they are going berserk</em>. At least that tends to motivate way too many people into making some very bad decisions for other people. <em>And isn’t that pitiful enough for the human race as a whole</em>?</p><p>Though if you follow those die-hard believers, everyone is fucked anyway, which may even have an ounce of truth to it. At least Jaime got the impression over the years that life is the sum of many, many bad choices. And in that sense, life is just a long round of fuckups meant to just go up in flames.</p><p><em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all</em>…</p><p>Jaime shakes himself, pulling up the zipper of his thick winter jacket as far as it will go, reminding himself that the fires burning behind his eyelids aren’t real. The only burn he should fear right now is freezer burn on his balls in that kind of shitty weather only the North can <em>bless</em> you with.</p><p><em>Be it as it may</em>, Jaime heard that sentence <em>somewhere</em>, long time ago, and since then it stuck with him to wherever he went. In fact, it eventually hit far too close to home and seems to be laughing at him ever since. It stayed with him ever since that one night as he st in a darkened room with no one and nothing but a bottle of bourbon to keep him company. It was at that moment that he became painfully aware of the fact that if life is the sum of the choices you make and the choices made for you, you also have to live with the consequences of those decisions.</p><p>He lived and has to live with the choices he made some years ago, in a dark tunnel no person will hopefully ever walk again. Because contrary to what the religious fanatics scream into their microphones, being virtuous and good is not an easy choice to make. Because far too often doing the right thing is impossibly harder than doing the wrong thing while doing the wrong thing comes far too easy for many people to even attempt to do the right thing. And sometimes, doing the right thing also means doing a wrong thing.</p><p><em>And how you are supposed to stay good and virtuous in all that mess?</em> That remains a secret the screaming radio hosts yet have to shout into their microphones with the same surety with which they condemn people for their oh so great wrongdoings and sins.</p><p>The world is a messy place of good and bad, each fighting for dominance, and Jaime won’t hold his breath for the good side to win. As a detective working in the behavioral analysis field, he earns his salary by staring into the darkness inside men and women alike, people who make terrible choices for people deserving much better. And most of those people don’t ever think about the consequences of their actions, and even if they do, they find that to be a just cause.</p><p><em>Justice</em>.</p><p>He snorts, turning his head to the window he can hardly see anything through as the snow just keeps pouring down like white tar.</p><p>To tell the truth, he didn’t see himself travelling anywhere near the bloody North ever again. Though if life taught Jaime any valuable lessons, then it surely is to always expect the worst, double it, and prepare for that to happen. So perhaps having to come back to that damned place, if only for a visit, <em>thank the Gods</em>, is just another consequence of decisions neither black nor white but somewhere in-between.</p><p>Last time he travelled here, Jaime was much younger, though no less tarnished. It was shortly after <em>the incident</em>. His former brother-in-law used that not at all <em>lovely</em> get-together of two families that didn’t get along since well before the Long Night to pronounce him and Ned Stark husband and wife… <em>no wait</em>, his second-in-command at the headquarters in King’s Landing.</p><p>If Ned Stark hadn’t proved to be such a pain in the ass, Jaime would pity the guy much more for having been bestowed with these <em>honors</em>. Because Jaime knew right at the moment Robert shouted the words into a glass of wine that his former brother-in-law might just as well have killed his best friend right there and then to spare Ned the pain. Like that, Ned Stark had suffer through the separation from his family and his beloved North, only to die as a result of a thousand bad decisions a thousand miles from home.</p><p>Eddard Stark was an able detective, Jaime will give the guy that credit to anyone who’d ask, but Ned was not cut out for what it takes to survive in that wretched capital. To make it from one day to the next in that place, you have to understand that the world is not just black and white. You have to accept its grayness. You have to accept your own, embrace it even .And Ned Stark never could have truly accepted that. He always remained a foreigner to these lands, stayed in a place while perfectly out of place. And if Robert had been the true friend he always thought himself to be, he would have left Ned and his family alone, in the cold North to where they belong.</p><p><em>And all that under the stupid pretense that he needed someone he could trust one hundred percent</em>. Any sane person should know that you can only ever trust a person maybe seventy percent of the time. Someone you trust one hundred percent is either a con artist or such a lickspittle you could do better without. Jaime never had any doubt that Ned was a hundred percent committed to the fool of a friend who also happens to be Jaime’s boss to this day. <em>And that is bad enough</em>. Because Ned overlooked not at all gracefully just how fucked up Robert was and how that fucked him up in turn.</p><p>Robert needed Ned to pet his ego, and the guy happily obliged, throwing his loyalty and unmoving sense of honor at him like a damned groupie tossing rolled-up panties at a music festival. And that even though anyone should have seen that Robert just tried to overcompensate for the shit that went on when Lyanna disappeared and he continued to pile up bad decisions instead of getting over his own damned ego when it mattered.</p><p>There was a city threatened to burn, and that guy could only think of his mysteriously disappeared fiancée. And yet, Robert didn’t have to pay much back yet, for the shitty decisions he made over the years, not just for himself. Though he surely suffered a great deal in his marriage to Jaime’s sister and the subsequent war of the roses that did not smell of roses in any way.</p><p>And some time after <em>the incident</em>, Jaime found himself in a car like the one he is in right now. Just that this time, he only ever set foot on Winterfell’s airport and into the car that awaited him at the exit to take him even further up North. Last time, there was no sweet promise of pissing from the top of the Wall. Instead, he had to suffer through that party that proved to be an early death sentence for Ned Stark. Instead, he sat in the car, knowing that he’d have to pretend to be some version of himself that couldn’t hear people whispering behind his back or staring at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.</p><p>The party was a farce, really, that’s as much as Jaime can remember from it beside his brother nearly dancing naked on the tables after too much wine – and whatever Luwin had in the flask in his sleeve. It is all blurred out by the edges, like a faded photograph of memories he stored in a dusty box not meant to be opened. He drank more than he should have that night and felt like a true masochist, letting himself be stabbed by the stares of the people who did not believe Jaime Lannister had it in him to come to such a party and smile at them the way he did that night. It hurt his teeth, but he didn’t care.</p><p>Jaime rather wouldn’t have come, but his father forced his hand. The trial just recently won, Tywin Lannister seemingly still had hope that Jaime’s reputation was not beyond saving, when it was the very day he fired that damned bullet. <em>And another. Just to be sure.</em></p><p>But a father’s pride will blind him to any reality, however plain in sight it is.</p><p>Jaime could analyze his father’s behavior into meticulous detail if he so chose, but he long since made a habit of it not to dwell on the man too much. In general, he knows better than to use the knowledge of his profession on family members.</p><p>You really don’t want to know what lumbers down below. You don’t want to think about what childhood traumas lead to the heavy drinking, what makes children crave a father’s approval, well aware that they won’t ever get it. Just like you don’t want to think about how easily someone manipulates even their own family to do their bidding. While Jaime tries his best to stay clear of the family drama, he couldn’t help but hear the noise about his dear twin sister framing their cousin as her protégé not just at the company but also in private life. And poor Lancel is a fool if he believes that she does that out of care or because she believes in him, or that it is out of some twisted familial kind of love. Because Cersei Lannister is only capable of the love she feels for herself.</p><p>
  <em>At the very least, my dear sister made one right decision: ending the marriage to her whoring husband before they ever had children. I don’t want to know what trauma she’d induce if she had kids of her own. And let’s just hope that she won’t have any, period.</em>
</p><p>Then it’s better that his sister keeps acting like a child at the family company, if Father is to be believed whenever he laments about his daughter’s utter inability to think two steps ahead and not taking any blow against her pride as a reason to rage war upon supposed “enemies”, a group his boss still belongs to even now that the divorce is well behind them both. Jaime can only ever laugh when he hears this – because from whom did she learn that behavior, <em>hm</em>?</p><p>And here they are now, years after that party, or at least some of them, older but none the wiser. Thankfully, Winterfell lies behind him already, long since swallowed up by the heavy snow making a travel by plane to the Wall a thing of impossibility.</p><p>Jaime is prepared for the worst time two, but he is curious to find out just what new worse he will have to double for this case he was assigned to. When the colleagues taking you to the scene won’t speak much beside a few short sentences on a <em>long-ass</em> ride up to the Wall, you know it’s pretty bad.</p><p>
  <em>Not that I would have wanted to talk to them anyway. They don’t seem to be the brightest Northern stars in the night sky.</em>
</p><p>Jaime already had a feeling when he didn’t get all information he normally requires when Robert sent him off to investigate the situation at Castle Black. But then again, the guy is a piss-poor excuse of a chief, too. So he may just as well have forgotten as he forced another poor secretary on her knees to blow his limp dick that only ever sees the light of day when Robert bothers to lift the belt of skin and fat hanging over it like skirt made out of meat.</p><p>“We’re almost there.”</p><p>“No need to get a twist in your panties, pals,” Jaime huffs, noting the man’s distress in his voice. “What’s dead stays dead. Or do you still believe in wights and snarks and grumkins?”</p><p>The man just scoffs silently, watching him through the rearview mirror when he should definitely be watching the road. Jaime eases back against his seat, grinning back at his own reflection, ignoring the ache in his teeth. He’d want to believe in those beasts, really. Because it’s much easier to believe in a mythical bad to commit such atrocities than to know this one simple truth: We are all capable of the worst. And others have to bear the burden of the worst we can do. And this worst can always be doubled – at the very least.</p><p>And that is what he is prepared for.</p><p>Because that is the choice he made.</p>
<hr/><p>Hands folded in his back, Jaime looks around as he is led down icy corridors that are about as inviting as the Nightswatch has been since before the Age of Dawn. Though it never fails to fascinate him how much you can find out about a case by just looking at people holding at least some of the information.</p><p>The tall officer who came here with him coughs far too often without actually having any signs of a cough. The small one is always averting his gaze whenever Jaime asks a question relating to the case. They haven’t been at the crime scene itself, he knows that much, but Jaime reckons they have seen some pictures or were given some descriptions that made them sit in the car all tight-lipped and with a stick up their asses. What is not at all uncommon for the Northerners is the tight-lipped part, which is why Jaime keeps talking to them anyway, just to piss them off.</p><p>
  <em>Though upon reflection, both are true. Most Northerners tend to have the same damned stick up their ass. And it seems that they really have to get off by being prodded with their damned stick. And so I will do that solemn duty, though not at all tight-lipped.</em>
</p><p>“You two are shitty tour guides, I hope you know that. The least you could do is give me some insight into the great history of this oh so magical place,” he laughs, not meaning it at all. Though he continues to find satisfaction in their grunts of disapproval, their little huffs, working themselves up as though any of what he said was of true consequence.</p><p>They continue down a narrow passageway. At the end, a gray-haired guy Jaime assumes to be the coroner, is waiting for them. He studies the two officers for a moment, then looks at Jaime, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He pushes up his glasses with one gloved hand before holding it out to him.  “Hello, Detective Lannister, correct?”</p><p>“The one and only. You may remember me from that one time I was all over the news,” Jaime laughs, taking the man’s hand to give it a firm squeeze. The seasoned coroner flashes a small grin at him. “Ah, so that’s what it was.”</p><p>“I hope that next time I am called to a crime scene up here, <em>you</em> greet me. Those two are such bores.”</p><p>“How about we get on with work instead chit-chatting?” the tall one snarls, folding his thin arms over his equally thin chest. Only the Gods will know how he passed the physical exam to even make it as an officer. Though if rumors are to be believed, the North has a big problem with attracting young people to join the department.</p><p>And Jaime has <em>no</em> clue why that would be. <em>It’s so lovely here, isn’t it?</em></p><p>“How about you don’t act like being the chauffeur-duty for a detective is a badge of honor but just your boss’s way of saying fuck you to you both?” the coroner shoots back in that kind of resolute yet silent voice that just warms Jaime’s cold heart.</p><p>He tends to like these guys better than those detectives still far too eager to please their superiors. Those kinds of people understand the priorities and how bullshit is very low on the list. <em>Or at the very least, it should be.</em></p><p>“Whatever. Let’s just get on with it,” the smaller one says.</p><p>Jaime sighs, turning to them. They really are lucky bastards today because he feels charitable enough after meeting such a <em>lovely</em> coroner who can’t be bothered to give a shit. “Alright, snarky snark and grumkin-my-pumpkin? How about you two help yourself to some nice cocoa while the adults go down and talk?”</p><p>“Hey, I’m an officer like you – and we were assigned to the case as well,” the tall one fires back. Jaime tries his hardest not to roll his eyes until they spin in a perfect circle.</p><p>“I doubt that. Listen now, I am being nice to you, asshole. Because you are already green around the nose and I don’t want you throwing up the shit breakfast we had – right on the corpse. You are not cut out for that, and you don’t have to be. You are <em>fine</em>… as a chauffeur. So leave now. I only need to talk to the witnesses and the coroner.”</p><p>The men look at him, seemingly expecting Jaime to see the error of his ways and say something to coddle their big egos inside tiny minds. But apparently, Jaime can’t be bothered to give a fuck either.</p><p>“Off you go,” he shoos.</p><p>The two exchange a few glances before turning around, grumbling to themselves as they leave. It never fails to make Jaime laugh at how pathetic they are, trying to prove something to a detective who’s seen so much worse than what they can even begin to imagine. And anyway, he is not here to make friends.</p><p>
  <em>I am very fine on my own. Have been for the better and the worst part of my life – yet.</em>
</p><p>“Alright, seems like we have a date. Lead the way,” he says, turning to the coroner. The older man nods his head and starts to walk further through this maze of tunnels and passageways. Thankfully, Jaime grabbed one of those tourist maps at the entrance to the historical part of Castle Black.</p><p>
  <em>You can never know when it may come in useful.</em>
</p><p>Jaime lets his gaze wander over the iced walls. He can feel a chill run through him as they come closer to the exit promising nothing but biting cold and sure death to await you the longer you dare stay. Nonetheless, Jaime will have to admit that these walls are impressive in their own strange way.</p><p>“So? What can you tell me?” Jaime asks.</p><p>“Not too much yet, I’m afraid,” the coroner answers. “We still have to wait until we can do a proper examination.”</p><p>“I thought they had an examination room for that even here at Castle Black. People don’t tend to live forever here,” Jaime comments. “Hopefully.”</p><p>“They have a room for that, that’s not the issue, but we can’t move the victim just yet. Not without destroying evidence,” the coroner explains. Jaime tilts his head to the side. “Anything you can say already, though?”</p><p>“It must have taken hours before he died. The person who did this to him wanted him to suffer for as long as possible.”</p><p>“Yeah, that tends to be part of what gets them off,” Jaime huffs. Most people just don’t get laid often enough, and so they have to find more dangerous things to get their cocks stiff in their hands again, or to feel that thrill of being alive again.</p><p>The coroner opens a door in a big iron gate. On the other side, people are working the crime scene. At last, Jaime finds himself in familiar terrain despite being a thousand miles from whatever this place called home is supposed to be. There is this kind of buzz you can only find at an active crime scene. The noises of the cameras or the whirring of the huge lamps put up to capture every detail on film, bound to be put into boxes eventually turning dusty. People walking around, murmuring, taking notes on clipboards.</p><p>Because no matter where and how people die, the routine of finding the person responsible tends to repeat the same steps over and over again.</p><p>“If you want, you can take a look yourself,” the coroner says.</p><p>“Oh, by all means.”</p><p>Jaime follows him to the far end where snow is blowing in from the outside, ice and snow and hail biting into the enormous iron gate, only to become some small part of the metal bars. At the bottom, a grotesque image unfolds before Jaime. The remains of a man, bloody and busted apart sprawled across the iron gate, making it seem like the victim is now part of the iron gate. Snow and ice mixed with blood and tissue and hair. A big hole gapes in the man’s head, nearly split in two. Everything tells you that the last blow that killed him was a blessing.</p><p>No matter how many years Jaime spent in the darkness of peoples’ vicious minds, it never ceases to make him shudder to see it unfold in reality. Jaime hopes that this is at least a small sign that he is somehow still alive, when he feels oh so often like one of the walking dead.</p><p>He accepts the report from the coroner and starts to file through the scarce information as he takes a look at the man, or rather, the bits of pieces frozen into the empty spaces in the iron gate.</p><p>“Well, at the very least you won’t have the moths and maggots eating away at that dude before you can do a proper examination,” Jaime comments, crouching down to take a closer look at the body, or what remained of it.</p><p>“No, I suppose we won’t,” the coroner agrees. “Not that I rejoice about that, really. That’s fucked up even by my standards, and I have seen my fair share.”</p><p>“I imagine.” Jaime tilts his head as he looks around. Even frozen, he can smell the blood and piss and shit.</p><p><em>They always piss and shit themselves before they die</em>.</p><p>“The murderer seemingly pushed his head through the gate and held him in place somehow, perhaps some rope. And then he started to use a heavy, blunt object to hit against Mr. Yarwick. A hammer, most likely. The murderer probably started with the extremities and then worked his way up to the rest of the body and at last, the head. I’d assume a man, since such brute force requires a lot of body strength and stamina,” the coroner reports. “What we are not too sure about is how he was held in place. With the arms and legs frozen as they are, there is no sure way to tell just yet. At least until I have him on my table.”</p><p>“My best guess would be dry ice,” Jaime ponders aloud.</p><p>“Dry ice?”</p><p>“If the murderer used a rope, we would see something on the gate. The guy must have fought back. Such friction caused by a rope would have melted some of the ice to make it thinner in that area,” Jaime explains. “The murderer probably pushed the victim’s head through the gate. Then poured water over him and dropped the dry ice to help freeze him in place. One hell of a freezerburn, I’ll tell you.”</p><p>“What makes you think that’s the scenario?”</p><p>“The way the ice formed around him,” Jaime says, pointing around the victim’s body. “Compare it to the rest of the gate on the same level. Naturally, ice and snow come in here, but they tend to be blown inward, so the heaps of snow run diagonal to the ground. Here it looks like it dribbled down on top of him and was frozen in place.”</p><p>“Right.” The man nods his head.</p><p>Jaime smirks at him. “No worries, you are supposed to look at bodies, I am supposed to look at the rest.”</p><p>“And once he was in place –,” the coroner mutters, and Jaime completes, “– Hammer time. I think you are right, he was hit by a man. This must have taken hours. And judging by the extent of the injuries sustained, that was a large hammer. Did you find the murder weapon?”</p><p>“Not yet, no.”</p><p>“Who found him?” Jaime wants to know.</p><p>“Security guard during the morning tour,” the coroner answers.</p><p>Jaime readjusts his position to look at the body from another angle. “Night patrol came here last when?”</p><p>“Around midnight.”</p><p>“That must’ve been a shitty dawn.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“Were there similar incidents before?” Jaime gets up to take another look around, now from the spot from where the murderer must have stood. Because part of his job is to think like those fuckers think, feel what they feel. To understand their motives, to understand to where they are headed next, you have to trace back where they were, where they come from, and just where they got lost inside their heads.</p><p>And that is why Jaime is sure that if there are indeed those Seven Hells the virtuecrats keep telling people about, because for thinking and feeling that, he already has a special place reserved for him right there.</p><p>“First and hopefully the only time I’ve seen something like that,” the coroner tells him.</p><p>“I hope so, too,” Jaime sighs, though he has a feeling that it’s really only just a hope. Someone with that much anger isn’t satisfied with just one man smashed to pieces with a hammer.</p><p>When you have that much hatred in you, that much power to put into your hate, you just have to carry on. Or else the anger just keeps rising inside you and you feel like you are about to burst.</p><p>And so you strike again and again and again.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all…</em>
</p><p>“I hope you have taken samples from everyone here,” Jaime says, biting down on the inside of his cheek, hard. “If it was a local, he should still have some… <em>bits and pieces</em> on him.”</p><p>“Everyone was tested. All came back negative,” the coroner answers.</p><p>Jaime cocks an eyebrow. “So it was someone from the outside. Interesting.”</p><p>“That’s not the descriptive word I’d use,” the coroner huffs.</p><p>“Well, it takes some talent and ability to come to a place like this, murder someone in that fashion, and get away before anyone realizes you gone,” Jaime ponders.</p><p>You have to know the terrain. You have to know the patrol routes and the frequency. And you have to lure your victim to come all the way out here, which is perhaps the more interesting bit. How do you get someone to get out of his warm bed to this place late at nigth, promising nothing but cold feet and a chill on the bladder?</p><p>“Again, talent and ability are not the words I’d use.”</p><p>“And I don’t blame you for that. It’s sick as it can be, but it just indicates that the person who did this is functional enough to carry these things out, which is very much contrasted by the sheer force and violence shown in the act of killing itself. It’s a total escalation.”</p><p>And it is a somewhat odd mixture – not completely unheard of, but not exactly common either. Someone holding that much of a grudge should have grabbed attention by people at Castle Black. People with that much hate are nasty to be around with. You just know that something is off about them and you stay away. So that is what he would have heard about by now. Instead, we have here a phantom who knows how to move in the shadows and strike with full force only when he knows it’s safe to let the beast out.</p><p>
  <em>We are certainly upping our game of how worse can it get.</em>
</p><p>Jaime lets his gaze wander about again, feeling the shadowy weight of a hammer in his hand and frozen speckles of blood clinging to his skin. Disgust for that man sticking to him as he meant to destroy him, annihilate his entire existence, run him to the ground until nothing remained, only for the snow to feast upon even before the crows can get their share. Exhaustion wearing down his muscles, limbs shaking, cold biting into his skin. A thirst satisfied after having been forced to wait and wait and wait for the grand moment to arrive. He can feel it surging in his veins, cold and hot and cold again.</p><p>
  <em>What do I do now? Where do I go? Back inside? With patrols around? Not so much. I could try my luck hiding in one of the less frequented hallways if I wanted to die of the cold. Or…</em>
</p><p>Jaime turns on the back of his heel to look at the outskirt of the forest cutting through the seemingly unending whiteness.</p><p><em>That should do</em>.</p><p>He sucks in a deep breath, blinking a few times, allowing the vast whiteness to brighten up some of the darkness he just dove into, leaving him in the familiar though no more comforting shades of gray.</p><p>“Tell your men to look for anything strange in or nearby the woods,” Jaime says.</p><p>The older man frowns. “Strange how?”</p><p>“I have an inkling that the murderer didn’t return to Castle Black.”</p><p>“You think he is still wandering through the woods?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, I think he parked a car or so somewhere around the area,” Jaime answers. “The rangers do not patrol those terrains, so someone could have put a vehicle there for a couple of days without anyone noticing.”</p><p>“Alright, we will have that checked out.”</p><p>“Much appreciated,” Jaime chuckles softly, turning back around and bending down in front of the victim’s body once again. “Will be a bitch to clean up and put back together for you. I hope you like puzzles.”</p><p>Jaime furrows his eyebrows when he catches something that does not fit with the other puzzle pieces. He readjusts his gloves and touches the frozen man’s forehead.</p><p>“What are you doing?” the coroner curses.</p><p>“Just checking something out.” He runs his thumb against the bloodied ashen skin.</p><p>“Make sure not to break anything off.”</p><p>“Not my first time at the rodeo, no worries. I won’t poke him too hard.” Jaime reaches into his pocket with his free hand to take out his phone and quickly takes a picture of the man’s busted head.</p><p>“Found what you were looking for?”</p><p>“Maybe. We will have to see,” Jaime replies. “Did the murderer leave any messages behind?”</p><p>“None that we know of.”</p><p>Jaime grimaces. Someone who puts up such a display, such a theatric design, has a message to deliver to the world. And it runs through ice and blood. So Jaime fully expected some kind of sick message to justify the decisions that led them all to where they are right now. But then again, the human mind is not as straightforward as most people think it to be.</p><p>Just like the world is messy, people’s heads are just as much of a raging chaos. And the deeper you dive into the madness, the closer you come to see shadows where there are none and to bend out of shape until you look way too much like the original.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>“Hm. Well, keep an eye on that. Someone who does that has something left to say,” Jaime tells the coroner.</p><p>“I can’t say I am looking forward to that. I am getting too old for that shit.”</p><p>“I get that. Either way, I think I have all that I need from the scene for now. I will need copies of all pictures taken as well as all tests and reports.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Good, then I will leave you to your puzzle while I will have a closer look at the victim’s room. See what porn magazines he jerked off to when he felt cold and lonely up here.”</p><p>“Do what you must.”</p><p>“Same to you.”</p><p>The older man nods. Jaime stuffs his hands into his pockets as he leaves the bright shine of freshly fallen snow behind and lets the darkness of the hallways engulf him.</p>
<hr/><p>“So, what did people think of the guy?” Jaime asks casually as he is led inside Othell Yarwick’s quarters. He is little surprised at the plainness of the room. Architects tend to like keeping things in order. The pens are neatly lined up on the table. The papers are aligned with the tabletop. Every piece of furniture looks like it was just recently wiped down, maybe even thoroughly disinfected. Yarwick had the clothes for the next day he never got to witness already laid out over a chair, pressed and folded perfectly.</p><p>
  <em>Even the fuckin’ underwear.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t know what other people think, sir,” his new tour guide says, hands behind his back, surely so Jaime can’t see the fists he is balling, though Jaime still knows.</p><p>“But you will surely have heard some rumors,” Jaime argues, making sure to keep his voice light as he walks about the room under the watchful eyes of the man who was certainly one of the colleagues – and not a colleague who enjoyed working with the guy.</p><p>Why else would Jaime have pointed at just this guy to show him to Yarwick’s quarters? Surely not because he looked like good company.</p><p>“I am not into gossip,” the other man insists.</p><p>“That’s what people who are into gossip also tend to say,” Jaime chimes, opening the victim’s wardrobe. Unsurprisingly, all is perfectly in order. More surprising are the brands. The most worn pieces of clothing have been moved to the corner furthest away from the person standing in front of the wardrobe. And those are of a cheap make, not the cheapest stuff sewn together in Essos by little children, <em>fine</em>, but still cheap enough to make you look cheap in a suit and tie. But right in front of him, Jaime finds much higher priced suits. They got tailored but they haven’t been worn nearly as often as the cheap ones in the corner have.</p><p>
  <em>Someone seemingly tried to put some distance between himself and the man he used to be.</em>
</p><p>“I have nothing to say about the guy and I don’t see the sense in you asking me about him,” the man grumbles. Jaime turns around to look at him. “Look, I know your lot is tight-lipped, but I have a job to do here and I have no time to lose. That man who made chunky frozen yogurt out of your former colleague may still be around, looking for the next guy to puree.”</p><p>Jaime is actually very sure the guy is gone, but the man in front of him doesn’t have to know that just yet, does he?</p><p>“Yarwick didn’t like most people and most people didn’t like Yarwick,” the man answers at last. Jaime smirks. “Now we are talking. And how comes that?”</p><p>“As I said, I am not into rumors.”</p><p>“But you are not deaf, are you?”</p><p>The man looks around, as though to check if someone is listening in, before looking at Jaime again. “Rumor has it that he’s used cheap materials on the gates and the tunnels when they were redone last summer.”</p><p>“Oh, I seem to recall news stories being all over the Wall when the Southern tunnel collapsed and became a death trap to quite a few of your men.”</p><p>“It was terrible,” the man recounts, gritting his teeth.</p><p>“If it is you any comfort, I’d think they died fast,” Jaime says mildly. “When you get buried under such masses of ice and snow, you are dead instantly from the pressure of the weight, no long suffocation or such. You just get hit in the head and then your watch’s ended.”</p><p>“No one could prove anything, but people heard that Yarwick always tried to make the best deals with the suppliers,” the man tells him.</p><p>Jaime shakes his head. “Like a true builder.”</p><p>“He didn’t seem particularly interested in preventing that from happening either,” the man adds.</p><p>“Yeah, that surely earned him a lot of new friends,” Jaime huffs.</p><p>“As I said, he didn’t seek friends.”</p><p>“So he got what he wanted.”</p><p>“And probably what he deserved, too,” the man says with narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jaime argues, finding the corners of his mouth twitching.</p><p>The other man frowns. “Why?”</p><p>“Have you seen him?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then go see him and you will understand. Wishing someone died is one thing, having that person frozen and then beaten to bits and pieces with a hammer for many, many hours is quite another. But of course, if you see justice in that – you are entitled to that opinion,” Jaime huffs.</p><p>The man opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and swallows it back down. <em>Maybe not all hope is lost for the North after all.</em></p><p>“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the man asks.</p><p>“No, that would be all for the moment, thank you. I’d like to stay here a while,” Jaime replies.</p><p>“Do what you got to do.”</p><p>“Oh, I always do what needs to be done. I built quite a reputation on that.”</p><p>The man grimaces at him, then disappears and closes the door behind him.</p><p>“Let’s see what filthy magazines you’ve been hiding, Othell,” Jaime mutters to himself as he sits down at the table with the sketches for a project the man won’t get to fuck up again.</p><p>And Jaime finds himself in familiar terrain again, creeping into a dead man’s head, tracing his steps until they become his own.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaime grunts as he fluffs up the pile of thin pillows under his head. Not exactly satisfied but better off than before, he leans back down again. He lifts up his notebook and starts to add new lines to the scribbles on an already pretty filled page.</p><p>Yarwick’s room gave Jaime what he needed to know of the guy. Corrupt just like far too many out there. And the rumors are most likely true. Someone definitely got some extra money to pay for some fine suits. Perhaps a share of the money that didn’t have to be spent after such a great deal with the suppliers was made.</p><p>Jaime is still more intrigued by what he found at the scene itself. Because the smashed head and blood and bits of brain did well to hide away some kind of pattern carved into Yarwick’s head.</p><p>And for the past few hours, Jaime tried to recreate the original pattern as most of it eventually fell victim to the mighty hammer. Maybe he should have paid better attention in geometry class, then this wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass.</p><p>His mind drifts over to the TV when he hears loud, over-dramatic moaning. Bad actors in a badly enacted sex scene. <em>The guy could have bothered shaving that bush. Looks like a damned orange jungle down there, damn it</em>. At the very least, they were kind enough to book him the blue movies as well, <em>how considerate of them</em>. They probably think he jerks off to that kind of shit they saw earlier at the scene. <em>Assholes</em>. Which is not to say that he won’t jerk off tonight, <em>of course</em>. It tends to ease Jaime into sleep. Courtesy of body chemicals doing what they are supposed to do, no matter what shit you saw earlier in the day. A few gentle strokes and a few squeezes and all you see is white stars and all you feel is your cock throbbing and you forget how everything just hurts. And then it all fades to black.</p><p>Maybe Jaime is as fucked up as they say after all. Who knows?</p><p>
  <em>And who cares?</em>
</p><p>Jaime presses a random button on the remote, easing back again, finding the actor’s performance just about pitiful. He picks up the notebook again. No five finger discount for a few hours of sleep before he managed to breathe some life back into his dusty geometry knowledge.</p><p>
  <em>Left, right, down… no. Right, left, up… </em>
</p><p>“Be virtuous! Be good! Don’t let sins tempt you!”</p><p>Jaime furrows his eyebrows. So the angry faithful radio hosts actually managed to yell their way into a very late night TV show? Jaime could piss himself at the madness unfolding before his eyes. The experience on-screen is even more insane than their voices shouting at you not to jerk off so not to upset the Seven. In this hour for power, a bunch of angry preachers in fine suits proclaim that they healed Greyscale by praying to the Seven just hard enough. That the Seven saved them from the corruption of sin. That the Seven see all you do, all the good and bad. That the Seven will reward the good and punish the bad.</p><p><em>As though those bastards ever listen or care. If they are even there, that is</em>. And Jaime has reasonable doubt. Last time he could have used their help, they were nowhere to be found. And Jaime is done going looking for them.</p><p>“Read the scriptures!”</p><p>“Listen to the words of justice spoken by the Father Above!”</p><p>“Repent your sins!”</p><p>
  <em>And buy our latest book for 9,99…</em>
</p><p>Jaime frowns as he looks at the screen with the red-faced man holding up his fancy copy of the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em>.</p><p>“There you are,” he laughs, picking up the pen to connect the dots on the page, without having to inhale the dust of geometry classes, of his own past. A heptagram. A seven-pointed star.</p><p>
  <em>Now, this may get really interesting.</em>
</p><p>Though he does not look forward to coming back to the office. Jaime will have to call Robert in the morning and act like he doesn’t want to puke at the fat guy whenever he sees him lumbering around the building, acting like he knows anything more than shit. Because the guy only knows how to shit without falling off the damned toilet. And even that only when he is sober, which is rare enough.</p><p>At the very least, Jaime will only have to look into the faces of familiar people back in King’s Landing. He’ll only have to deal with the sneers and the sniggers and the whispers he’s grown accustomed to over the years since <em>the incident</em>. Jaime hates unfamiliar whispers. You are always more alert to the things you didn’t spend years getting used to. It’s a reflex.</p><p>Jaime sighs as he leans back on the bed, tossing the notebook on the nightstand. With one hand, he replaces one red head with another, though this one is certainly enjoying himself much more than the red-headed preacher as he keeps pounding into the poor girl surely not getting paid enough to have sex with that ugly guy with a jungle in his trousers, barely concealing that his member is not nearly as big as that guy probably thinks it is.</p><p>Finding the images not at all arousing enough to get him anywhere near hard, Jaime switches to some music channel, turns up the volume and lets the thrum of the base drum in his skull as he reaches with his free hand into his boxers. He just wants to sleep, for fuck’s sake. And he doesn’t want to dream of green fires for once.</p><p>He groans as he feels himself growing hard after a few lazy albeit hasty strokes, a means to an end, so he can keep going somehow, in a direction he knows leads him into an unending darkness burning hot as all the Seven Hells combined.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all…</em>
</p><p>Jaime stares at the white ceiling with the crack in it, focuses on that color and the buzz of the music as best as he can, routinely getting himself to the point where he is panting, feeling his skin inflaming, bearing the heat in the hope of the promise of cooling down thereafter, trading all green fires for dull blackness.</p><p>The air catches in his throat as he comes. There is not much pleasure to the act, just instincts doing what they are supposed to do, the body reacting to stimulus. But Jaime doesn’t care for. He only cares for the white ceiling fading to gray as darkness claims his body, dousing any flame, leaving him in vast blackness, swallowing all light.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Meetings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime finds himself confronted not just with his boss but also the consultant Robert enlisted to "help" him in the investigation.</p>
<p>Obviously, Jaime is not at all pleased with that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello to those brave souls still sticking with this thriller-esque story. Thanks for comments and kudos despite some backdating issues I realized way too late (here's to hoping that it works better this time around).</p>
<p>Anyway, I have taken liberties when it comes to expanding on the history of the Faith to fill the gap between the canon timeline and where we are now in this modern day and age.</p>
<p>I hope you enjoy. Much love! ♥♥♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ritualistic murder.”</p>
<p>Jaime runs his fingers through his hair, easing back in his chair as he watches Robert seemingly trying to taste those words on his fat tongue, greasy palms folded over his round belly. To this day, the guy bothers to make it seem like he has any kind of authority when all Robert does is leave people to their damned business, which is about the one uplifting quality he has as a boss.</p>
<p>Other than that, Robert Baratheon only ever got the position because there supposedly was a time when he was charming, easy to make friends and inspire confidence. <em>When he was still younger, and about half his body mass</em>. Jon Arryn made Robert his protégé alongside Ned, but Ned never had any ambition to make it as a detective in the capital, let alone run the department. Thus, Robert almost inherited the position from Arryn once he passed away.</p>
<p><em>And people say we have since overcome the political machinations of kings and queens</em>. In the end, you have to befriend the right people or be born into the right family to have the career of your choice, which is not very different from what we had back when people fought over the Iron Throne, which is, today, merely part of an exhibit.</p>
<p>“Yeah, ritualistic murder, as I said,” Jaime repeats in an effort to break that awkward and unnecessary silence. “The murderer carved a seven-pointed star into the guy’s head before smashing it with a hammer. This is a religiously motivated message. I don’t imagine he just wanted to get back at his geometry teacher for giving him a D for his shit heptagrams.”</p>
<p>Robert shakes his head with a sigh. “As if the city doesn’t have enough of that shit. Now we also have a what? Serial septon?”</p>
<p>“That is quite catchy,” Jaime chuckles, but then adds with more sincerity, “Make sure not to say that to any news outlet. They may actually jump on the title. I don’t want to give the guy such satisfaction. Right now, all has to stay under the radar, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Do you really take me to be that dumb?”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to answer honestly?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want word to get out about that, believe me,” Robert huffs, taking a gulp from his water which he surely wished was wine already. “Not that close to the K7 Summit even less so.”</p>
<p>“Right, I almost forgot that the crème de la crème of economy and politics come together to make life more miserable for people so that they can make even more of a profit off of peoples’ misery,” Jaime sighs. “The big seven, which are not at all the Seven.”</p>
<p>Once upon a time after the Seven Kingdoms became only just the descriptive word for their respective regions, the rich people in the world wanted to divide the world anew. <em>What once was separate was supposed to move closer together, enable communication and compromise and</em>… he forgot the rest from that ridiculous commercial-like announcement back in the day.</p>
<p>Supposedly, this summit is a forum for political leaders to set a unified financial course in close correspondence with the allies even from across the Narrow Sea, but in the end, it’s just a forum for the powerful in the world to become more powerful than the already are. Just that the forum provides them with a platform to make it seem like they all only have the best of the people in mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>In fairness, they have the best for some people in mind, it’s just not that many, which is kind of the point.</em>
</p>
<p>“It’s more than the big seven, now that they made it official that Essosi politicians and economic experts will be joining from Pentos, Braavos, Yunkai, Volantis, Meereen and Gods know where else,” Robert informs him.</p>
<p>Jaime sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Does my face make it seem like I care? Coz then I’d have to recaliber.”</p>
<p>“The point is, I don’t need such a scandal to get out to the public with <em>this</em> event on our door steps,” Robert informs him. “I was told that it’s very important that this event takes place. A serial septon may make some people want to rather stay home.”</p>
<p>“Which they should, but who am I to say?” Jaime huffs. “Well, at least we both can agree that this guy’s message shouldn’t be out in the world, now because of the summit or just because of good old detective work.”</p>
<p>“And what message is that?” The dark-haired man furrows his bushy eyebrows.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I knew that already. What I understand is that Yarwick was not exactly an innocent lamb amongst the wolves,” Jaime answers. “And the murderer knew about that.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I heard those rumors about the collapsed tunnels.”</p>
<p>“I bet it’s more than just rumors. He got cash inflow short time after the incident. Apparently, he’d been working on his resignation from the position as First Builder at the Wall and retreat to the more tropical areas of the world. I found some drafts of a resignation letter in his safe,” Jaime says.</p>
<p>
  <em>And gee, was it a boring read.</em>
</p>
<p>Robert grimaces upon hearing that. “How did you get to that?”</p>
<p>Jaime waves his hand dismissively. “They always pick their damned birthdays as a code. That, or wedding date… or 1-2-3-4-5-6.”</p>
<p>
  <em>And with this one, of course it was his damned birthday.</em>
</p>
<p>“So this is not just some revenge act, you think?” Robert wants to know. “Someone who lost a friend in the tunnels and wanted him to pay for that?”</p>
<p>“It is revenge, but someone who just wants to smash a guy for killing his friends won’t bother to carve a sigil in the forehead before continuing with the smashing. Also, just going by demographics, the Faith of the Seven is not that widespread in the North. Most people believe in… those trees or whatever. The real Old Gods. Either way, the coroner confirmed by now that Yarwick was beaten before the approximate time of the carving and the subsequent great smashing that ended his life. Someone who is that high on adrenaline after the initial smashing doesn’t just stop to carve a sigil. The hands would have been too shaky, let’s say. That message was important to the murderer somehow. More important than just smashing.”</p>
<p>“Well, that makes my decision to take your message of urgency to heart a good one. I enlisted someone from the outside to support you in the investigation,” Robert announces, way too pleased with himself.</p>
<p>Jaime whips his head around. “Hold your fuckin’ horses. What’s that supposed to mean? I asked that you have a consultant look at some of the info regarding the sigil, no more, no less.”</p>
<p>He would have remembered if he had told his boss to bind a damned consultant to his leg. <em>Though then again, this certainly proves that</em> <em>Robert is only a good boss so long he doesn’t try to act like one, fuck.</em></p>
<p>“Well, from your report I understood that the Faith has to do with it. So I called up a specialist for the Faith of the Seven.”</p>
<p>Jaime blows air through his nostrils as he buries his face in his hands. “For the love of the Warrior, please tell me I won’t have a septon tagging after me pissing his robes as he takes a good look at a body. Please tell me that even you are not that stupid.”</p>
<p>“You <em>are</em> aware that I am your boss, yes?”</p>
<p>“And <em>you</em> are aware whose father paid your bills as chief here due to some <em>mismanagement</em>? Money a certain someone didn’t pay back yet as far as I know from my little brother who still knows the books?” Jaime replies, not bothering to lift his head to look Robert in the eye. He can hear by just the huffing of his boss that a) he hit the nail on the head, of course, and b) Robert is none too pleased with the quick reality check.</p>
<p>It’s an open secret that Robert is only ever good when it comes to <em>representing</em> the head of the department as a somewhat benevolent, fat-bellied, middle-aged guy who loves dirty jokes and has a booming voice sure to grab anyone’s attention. Behind the scenes, Robert wouldn’t know how to operate the department even if his life depended on it.</p>
<p>Right after the whole thing with his fiancée, Robert tossed out money like candy, so to prevent something that wouldn’t happen that way ever again anyway. Because that shit was just personal drama that could have been prevented, had people just <em>talked</em>. Instead, Robert found that the department needed new toys thereafter, new training programs for cases that weren’t worth it. And then, of course, after <em>the incident</em>, Robert and some many other influential people in politics, military, and the law enforcement found that the image of the department was due for a much-needed makeover.</p>
<p>
  <em>But sure, the three branches all work separately. If you want to believe that, you might just as well join the virtuecrats during their hour for power.</em>
</p>
<p>Jaime’s father thought it extremely clever to help push that agenda, still fully convinced that it would result in Jaime’s reputation being somewhat restored enough that he’d join the family business and leave that shit behind. <em>But oh boy, was he wrong about that</em>. Robert took the money Tywin gave, spent it on toys and ad campaigns to attract future detectives and “restore people’s faith in the department”. Because, <em>apparently</em>, people mistrust an agency that keeps employing a detective that got out of a murder charge involving shooting an unarmed man in the back twice without spending a day in prison.</p>
<p>
  <em>Who could have guessed? And who the fuck cares?</em>
</p>
<p>What his father didn’t account for was Robert’s innate ability to do the opposite of what you want him to do. When Robert married Cersei, Tywin hoped that he could install his economic power in the Stormlands and thus gain new territories for trade in the East and across the Narrow Sea. After all, the Baratheons historically own those areas – and Robert was “head” of the company as the oldest son of late Steffon Baratheon. Tywin aimed to install Cersei as an influence there to represent Lannister interests, as Robert never showed ambition to ever run <em>his</em> family business.</p>
<p>And that should have paved the return of the long lost son and only heir Tywin Lannister would ever accept, but the card house collapsed soon enough. The long lost son did not return. Robert and Cersei got divorced before Tywin could even attempt to situate himself in the Stormlands. And Robert, more out of instinct than anything else, decided to put his shares for the family company in a trust fund for his youngest brother so Robert could “fully commit” to his job at the department. And just like that, Tywin’s plans failed to build that dynasty meant to last a thousand years.</p>
<p>
  <em>How sad.</em>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Robert scoffs, his hands clutching his wrinkled shirt all the tighter. While he obviously tries to fight for composure, he can’t help himself but grow louder. Because that is what people do when they can’t back themselves up with words or intellect, they just get louder and louder and louder still.</p>
<p>This time, Jaime looks up, leaning his chin on his folded hands. “I think you do. I think I could call up my brother right now and he could tell me the exact numbers. And how much interest you’d have to pay back but can’t because you gave away your shares to the company that may have helped you compensate. Oh, and then there is of course the fun bits that came up when you and my sister got divorced and she presented those <em>interesting</em> papers about money that definitely belonged not to you as a person but to the department. And how partners weren’t compensated for workshops you had us all take. Fun times.”</p>
<p>“Thin ice, Lannister,” Robert hisses. Jaime looks him straight in the eye, clenching his jaw. “Thin for someone as massive as you, maybe. But it’d carry my lean ass any time. And anyway, <em>Bobby</em>, let’s not pretend: You hate me. I hate you. You need me. And mostly, you are near bearable as a boss. But you need me more than I need you because no one can do my job other than me. That’s just a plain matter of fact. So don’t bother getting yourself worked up over it.”</p>
<p>“Pride runs deep in your damned family, doesn’t it?” the dark-haired man scoffs.</p>
<p>Jaime smirks at that. “Well, at least gluttony doesn’t.”</p>
<p>Robert grumbles at that. Jaime grins, leaning on his forearms, focusing on the man in front of him so undeserving of his time. “Listen, I don’t want to have that shit argument with you all over again. We settled the score. You play boss, bang your secretaries all you like and I don’t bat an eye when you make some money disappear so people have guns and bullets to shoot with around here. That actually serves a purpose. Plus, I like you for pissing off my father. And in return, you just let me do my thing. So now. Why do we break this solid agreement, this most sacred vow, by binding a damned septon to my leg on an active case?”</p>
<p>“This <em>lady</em> from the Silent Sisters is the top expert on the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> and in crimes associated with it. She wrote her doctoral dissertation on the whole topic. And I guess it goes without saying that she got only the best marks on it,” Robert argues, as though that made things any better.</p>
<p>Jaime doesn’t even want to think about a septa clutching her pearls as she is led to an actual crime scene for the first time in her sheltered, theoretical life. Because the people relying on theory can surely analyze a great many things from images and texts, but most are not prepared for the reality of the smell of dried, clotted blood, a body decomposing, or moths and maggots eating someone’s face.</p>
<p>
  <em>And how only that helps some sick people getting off…</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh great, a septa about to piss herself in her gray skirt, all the better,” Jaime scoffs.</p>
<p>“Silent Sister, not septa. I was told there is actually a difference there and they insist on it. The old lady I talked to got all hissy at me when I called her a septa. Either way. The Silent Sisters educate not only some of the best pathologists, they also built a reputation as one of the best schools on the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> and the history of the Faith, which ticks all boxes we need to solve this case, wouldn’t you agree?”</p>
<p>“For what do I have the internet?” Jaime retorts, rolling his eyes. So long they give him a password to access some of their most precious archives, he should be fine. Jaime has no interest to write a dissertation about yet another madman on the loose.</p>
<p>
  <em>That makes them important in ways they are not. They are all best forgotten about. Deep in a tunnel with little light, so the echoes fade away. Burn them all. Burn them…</em>
</p>
<p>“Not for the stuff you want to know about the Faith if you want to crack the case,” Robert argues, surely feeling smart.</p>
<p>“How am I supposed to work with a Silent Sister? I thought those ladies don’t talk?”</p>
<p>“I bet you will find a way,” Robert huffs, waving his hands in the air dismissively. “And you talk enough for three anyway.”</p>
<p>Jaime shrugs his shoulders. “Can’t help it that everyone else is just so bland and boring that I have to entertain myself somehow to keep myself from falling asleep.”</p>
<p>Though it would be a blessing if those people would actually make him fall asleep. Jaime runs more of a risk of dying of boredom rather than getting sweet sleep out of it. Because purgatory is always lurking behind his eyelids.</p>
<p>“She is at the morgue to review the evidence,” Robert tells him, leaving a “that is final” lingering in the air.</p>
<p>“I work alone,” Jaime states, as he did far too many times. There are many reasons why he chose this path, why he kept walking it all by himself. And Robert added in no small part to it, even if the guy probably doesn’t even remember.</p>
<p>“She is there to help you figure out what you can’t because you are one unfaithful bastard. And that’s it,” Robert answers.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s hard to believe in those gods when so many people do such shit in their name,” Jaime huffs, shaking his head.</p>
<p>Those moments were there, in that dark tunnel, gun raised, ready to end it. He prayed to them for a sign, for a bit of mercy, but it never came. So why keep asking for help that you know won’t come? Isn’t that just another kind of madness in the end? And can Jaime afford to add that darkness to himself? He doesn’t think so, and even if he could, the past has shown that it is of no consequence.</p>
<p>“Just go see her, get the info you need and be done with it. And at the very least, be a bit grateful for me getting things moving fast,” Robert curses. “You normally do nothing but complain when I want to review the info first.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, reward yourself with some chocolate and a blowjob.”</p>
<p>“Piss off,” Robert snaps. Jaime only laughs at that.</p>
<p>“Love you, too, Bobby boy,” Jaime smiles, getting up. He closes the door, trying hard not to think back to the last time he had watchdogs assigned to him.</p>
<p>Because he tends to get prone to biting when backed into a corner.</p>
<p>Jaime waves at the people looking up from their computers inside their tiny cubicles, certainly having caught at least some of the shouting. Not that Jaime can be bothered to care. He smiles, baring his teeth, before ducking his head and walking down the corridors leading to the morgue downstairs.</p>
<p>Albeit a necessary destination for him more often than not, Jaime can’t say he fancies spending time down there. Already the corridors leading down remind him of those echoes that keep ghosting through his head.</p>
<p>
  <em>Plus, when you feel like you are dead inside most of the time, you feel way too familiar standing next to the corpses.</em>
</p>
<p>And then, of course, there is the small issue that the pathologist they have to run their morgue is a randy old bastard who can’t hear his own farts. And much like Robert, not at all good old Pycelle likes to bring girls here to suck on his wrinkled cock. Jaime can only pity those girls. Not only do they have to come to a damned morgue to do their business, but they have to do their business with fuckin’ Pycelle. They really don’t get paid enough for that shit.</p>
<p>Jaime sticks his head into the open rooms, suspecting to find that septa-not-a-septa to sit near the file cabinet, waiting to be picked up and shown around like a damn tourist. But no septa in sight. Not even in Pycelle’s office. Jaime ventures into the room of action. Someone stands in front of a table with a body, with his back turned to him. The white robes and the headgear make it hard for him to tell who that person may be, other than that it can’t be Pycelle by any means. Too tall for that and also too far upstanding.</p>
<p><em>Didn’t the old man mention that he took on an intern? </em>He tends to space off when the guy opens his mouth, so Jaime may have missed that recent update.</p>
<p>“Hey, you there! You seem new. Have you seen the old white cloak wannabe? I was hoping to…,” Jaime calls out, but then stops when he recognizes the remains of Yarwick in front of the guy, which were brought down from the Wall for further examination. “Shit, man! Interns don’t get to dig around in the guts of my fuckin’ corpses! Paws off!”</p>
<p>The tall guy turns around on the back of the heel. The first thing Jaime sees are goggles hiding big blue eyes behind the reflections of the cold light above. The second thing he notices are the earphones, which prevented the person from hearing him speak at first.</p>
<p>“Detective Lannister.”</p>
<p>And here is the third thing he should have noticed right away, had he paid better attention: “You are not the new intern.”</p>
<p>Because Jaime knows it was a guy who was hired as an intern, and that person may look like a guy, but she certainly doesn’t have the voice of one.</p>
<p>“No, I am here upon Chief Baratheon’s request. Brienne of Tarth,” the woman, <em>apparently</em>, replies, looping her gloved wrist through the cables of her earphones to take them out without getting any evidence on them.</p>
<p>“The septa.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>no</em> septa. I don’t know where you got that from. I work at the convent of the Silent Sisters,” she informs him, and Jaime already has to try hard not to groan.</p>
<p>“Silent Sister, septa, all the same, isn’t it?” he snorts.</p>
<p>“Certainly <em>not</em>. I can only reiterate: I work at the convent. That is quite another thing,” she replies, lifting her chin a bit higher.</p>
<p>
  <em>Gee, someone seeking validation much, isn’t it?</em>
</p>
<p>“How do you even talk to me, as a Silent Sister and all? I mean, name has it. You are supposed to be hush-hush, no?” Jaime teases.</p>
<p>“We no longer live in the times of before the Long Night, Detective. Silent Sisters are no longer bound to silence, unless they choose so. Some may still take the vows and still do, but it is no longer required of Silent Sisters in our time. Though since you seemingly don’t know about those matters, I’d assume it’s fortunate that your superior requested my assistance. You seem to know little about the Faith.”</p>
<p>Jaime can’t help but smile at that. He is used to being met with misgiving right from the start, but he certainly didn’t expect a Silent Sister to be that outspoken about it. And he has yet to decide whether he actually finds that better.</p>
<p>“That’s because I have no faith, good Sister,” he answers.</p>
<p>“How so?”</p>
<p>“Experience.”</p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p>
  <em>That women surely understands to pack a lot of loathing in just one syllable. </em>
</p>
<p>“Well, I guess courtesy requires a proper hello. Jaime Lannister.” He holds out his hand to her. The Silent Sister looks at him incredulously. “I just had my hands inside the intestines of a man. I hope you see that I won’t be shaking your hand right now, no matter what courtesy may demand.”</p>
<p>“Oh, piffle. I wonder anyway why you are hands-deep in the guy’s guts… probably his shit. Is that new part of the Silent Sister acceptance rituals?” Jaime sniggers, testing the waters. If he has to work with that woman, and for what it seems, he won’t get rid of her that easily, it can’t harm to find the limits – so he can overstep them at the right time.</p>
<p>“I would have hoped Mr. Baratheon informed you that I am not just someone who knows the holy text. I am a trained forensic pathologist. The Silent Sisters, since well before the Dance of Dragons, have tended to the dead and acquired important knowledge that to this day influences pathology as we know and practice it,” she says, in the kind of voice you could also suspect from a tour guide showing you around the convent of the Silent Sisters.</p>
<p>“Proud history of going through dead men’s shit, I see,” Jaime snorts. “And Robert may have mentioned that, upon reflection. I tend to space off when he starts talking.”</p>
<p>“Discipline doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, then,” she says, her voice perfectly flat, turning back around to continue her examination. Jaime steps closer, observing as her big hands dig back into the mess that used to be a man. Though he can’t deny that there is a strange elegance to her movements, a kind of calm and dignity that only few manage to give to a heap of torn flesh and clotted blood.</p>
<p>
  <em>And ain’t that fucked up, too?</em>
</p>
<p>“I bet it’s your strong suit, though. And no, I have other talents, Sister.” He winks at her. She won’t grace him with even as much as looking up, answering instead, “It would seem so. Or else you would have been forced to retire from your job already.”</p>
<p>“Probably. But then again, you don’t want to know how many cocks I had to suck for that… <em>sorry</em>. I wouldn’t want to make a Silent Sister blush.” He smiles at her, winking.</p>
<p>“You’d need to do more than that to upset me, Detective.” While her voice may sound calm, Jaime can hear the storms raging within her. And as tall as that woman is, those waves can reach very, <em>very</em> high.</p>
<p>“So? Found anything of interest in the guy’s guts?” Jaime asks.</p>
<p>“Not yet, no,” she answers.</p>
<p>“I take that you already reviewed the information?” Though he reckons she learned it all by heart, only just to use her first chance to impress him with her oh so great skills. It’s better this way than the other way around, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. People only ever seeking praise are just as dull as those that can’t be bothered to give a shit.</p>
<p>“On my flight from Quiet Isle to here, yes,” she confirms.</p>
<p>He smirks. “Oh, so that is where the Silent Sisters live now?”</p>
<p>“They have since approximately 320 AC when they built the first school for Silent Sisters there alongside the brothers who were, name has it, sworn to silence as well,” she tells him, as though that should be common knowledge to anyone.</p>
<p>“Well, not surprising word didn’t get out about it, then.”</p>
<p>He smiles at his <em>solid</em> joke. She does not.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tough audience.</em>
</p>
<p>“Right.” She takes off the gloves and tosses them into the bin before washing her hands in the small basin off to the right side. The Silent Sister dries her hands with a sigh, sweat standing on her brow which she wipes away with the back of her sleeve before taking off the headgear, only for a gray veil to pop up underneath. She proceeds to loosen the knots in the back of her robe and pulls it down her arms, revealing plain gray clothes underneath, a turtleneck vest with many, <em>many</em> buttons and wide woolen trousers, coupled with functional black shoes. The only embellishment is a seven-pointed star pendant dangling from her thick neck. Impossibly, this woman looks even plainer in these clothes than in the white robe.</p>
<p>Jaime can only hope that she grew up prettier and only turned unattractive in her late youth or young adulthood. Or else, of that he is sure, her childhood was anything but a walk in the park.</p>
<p><em>She has pretty eyes, though</em>, he thinks to himself. <em>Would come out better if she didn’t just wear this boring gray. Maybe more blue.</em></p>
<p>The woman turns to him, her body screaming both “I am insecure” and “I will bury all insecurity with the strength of this body no matter what you do” right at his face. Jaime always likes dichotomies at work, fighting each other. They make people act so wonderfully irrationally and yet so predictably.</p>
<p>The Silent Sister holds out her now dried hand to him. Jaime shakes it with a firm grip she returns in kind. He sniggers when he feels her pressing down even harder.</p>
<p>“Pleasure, Sister. Though I am afraid my boss acted as rationally as he eats with self-control, which is… not at all. He never should have ordered you all the way here just for a chat. I appreciate any information you can give me on the Faith and the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em>. Maybe a written report or a list of sources for my self-study should suffice. Sorry for the inconvenience. Thinking is not <em>his</em> strong suit.”</p>
<p>“Detective, with all due respect for your expertise and experience in the field, it was the absolutely right decision for Mr. Baratheon to have my fly in. The symbolism and teachings as well as their perversions by criminals since the dark ages are not some midnight read. I have studied the subject matter for many years, and even that time did not suffice to gain a full overview of the manifold of issues and complexities of the Faith. If you truly want to profit from my knowledge in order to catch the person who did this to the victim, you’d do best keeping me around.”</p>
<p>Jaime waves his right hand in the air. “I skimmed through a copy of the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> they keep on every hotel’s nightstand, to refresh my memory from Sunday School I mostly slept through. I think I am good on the matter.”</p>
<p>“The <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> is much more than the holy text of the Faith. It is more than the source text. It is a history of its own that drastically shifted the meaning of the words and symbols over time. Just having read the text, not knowing what it meant in certain social contexts may put you at a great disadvantage, moving forward,” she argues, no insists.</p>
<p>
  <em>That woman surely won a lot of arguments in debate club.</em>
</p>
<p>“I bet that made a great argument in your thesis, Sister, but I am not interested in having an argument with the murderer, I want to catch the guy before he can puree another person,” Jaime retorts.</p>
<p>She furrows her eyebrows. “And you think I don’t share in that wish?”</p>
<p>“Judging by the way you act, you have righteousness shooting out of your rear… sorry. Bad language, I know. The point is: I don’t deny that your educated opinion will come in handy, but I don’t need you on the crime scene to get that perspective from you. If you were so kind to answer my phone calls in case something shows up, I’d be forever indebted to you. And you should know that Lannisters always pay their debts,” Jaime tells her. “And if you are eager for a new study project, I see no issue forwarding you the information and files for <em>your</em> self-study.”</p>
<p>“I am more than an expert on the holy text. I am a forensic pathologist –,” she wants to say, but he cuts her off, “– As you already said. You know, people who constantly have to reaffirm their qualifications tend to have a –”</p>
<p>But this time, she won’t let him finish, “I am not trying to impress you because I don’t much care what you think or don’t think of me, Detective. I consider it my duty to help solve this case to the best of my abilities. That is all. Now, I keep repeating that I am a pathologist to get across even to you that I need to see scenes and not just a body coming in a bag in order to give you a varied account on the reasoning applied, based on the holy text. I only ever gathered important information from the pictures <em>you</em> took because most people don’t get the right angles when it comes to religiously motivated crime. You understood that it was a ritualistic murder very early on. But still, you missed some things that I found out by examining him from the angle of the Faith. And I could have given you that information already then, had I been called in immediately.”</p>
<p>It is almost charming, <em>but really just almost</em>. To see people devoted like that, still believing that they can save the world if they crack a tough case. It’s not like that. Jaime learned that the very hard way. Because you catch one bad guy, fine, great success. That still leaves an endless list of more out there, lingering in the darkness. It never ends. There is always another madman, another case, and another still. Because the gluttony for bad far exceeds the thirst for good in their fucked-up world. There is no finishing line other than your own. And once you cross the threshold, all you can hope for is a quick, clean death so you can serve your sentence in the Seven Hells.</p>
<p>“Things I missed? Such as? Now I am <em>really</em> aching to know, Sister. Are you going to tell me that the murder has something to do with the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em>? Or that the guy is faithful? Or believes himself to be?” Jaime huffs, shaking his head. “Look, I get the angle. But a common misconception is the one forced by crime movies and TV shows. Those murderers are seldom as intelligent as they are portrayed to be. There is rarely bigger reasoning behind their sick obsession with religion than wanting to kill some folks or got beaten on the ass as a kid by their sadistic daddy-oh. 95 percent just have a lot of hatred and want to kill some people to feel alive or growing hard. And for many, that means the same thing.”</p>
<p>
  <em>And then there are those that just want to see the world burn…</em>
</p>
<p>The Silent Sister does not seem wavered in the least, though. “The carving in the forehead is an act of penance. I gathered from the coroner’s report that the carving was done <em>ante mortem</em>, and I can confirm that, judging by the bloodflow and the bruising. Which leads to the assumption that the murderer wanted the victim to force a confession and do penance according to the old laws of the Faith. If the rumors you mentioned in your report are correct, then the crime committed was the usage of cheap materials that led to the deaths of innocent men when this tunnel collapsed.”</p>
<p>Jaime frowns. “I never read about that practice even in my Sunday School classes.”</p>
<p>He won’t say she may have a point, but there may be a point somewhere.</p>
<p>“Because it is no practice spelled out in the holy text. It is a practice that people came up with as means to worship their Gods centuries ago. The carving goes all the way back to the original Faith Militant. It is a practice that was first forbidden after the usurpation of Bran the Broken, following the second Long Night, and later on abandoned and forgotten about completely in the wake of the changing political and social climate. Sinners, or those perceived to be, were marked with the seven-pointed star. You confessed your crimes in the face of the Seven and bore the mark as a reminder for your sins for the rest of your life.”</p>
<p>Jaime wrinkles his nose. At the very least, she managed to get his attention, <em>for now</em>. “… Is that something someone can easily learn from the internet as a fun fact to crack at a party?”</p>
<p>“Not likely,” she replies, shaking her head as she lets her gaze wander back over Yarwick’s body. “There is little evidence of this practice that survived to the present day. The Citadel and the school on Quiet Isle are the only institutions currently known to hold some kind of record of the practice, which was found in personal writings of a member of the Faith Militant following Robert’s Rebellion, and a few more that followed after the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor, which forced the few remaining members of the Faith Militant into the underground.”</p>
<p>“So it’s a very uncommon practice, I take,” Jaime concludes. At least that tells him something new about the murderer. Someone who knows that stuff did his homework. It’s not just for the aesthetic. That guy is invested in this shit.</p>
<p>
  <em>Great hobby to have, coupled with murdering some folks.</em>
</p>
<p>“It hasn’t been officially practiced ever since Brandon Stark was usurped, as I said. With monarchy suddenly overthrown, people had their misgivings of any kind of higher institution dictating their behavior,” the Silent Sister explains. “In the years that followed, many castles, godswoods, and septs were burned to the ground. The public had enough of repenting for the sins of lords and ladies and religious leaders alike. Many texts and images were lost during that period. So history soon forgot a lot of those practices altogether.”</p>
<p>“I know it’s bullshit to do psychological analysis on historical figures, but honestly, if the records are true and Brandon Stark didn’t feel anything, they might just as well have named him Bran the Sociopath. And they seriously voted that guy into office. Small wonder monarchy was overthrown just a couple of months into his reign,” Jaime laughs.</p>
<p>True insanity lies in the fact that politics still dictate their lives when history has proven that politics always undermine peoples’ lives with wars and many, many bad decisions only benefitting the few.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, the stupid summit can’t come soon enough to pop the champagne for the upcoming leaders of the world who may still have to be elected by the people but are actually decided at that summit already.</em>
</p>
<p>“Either way. In this particular context, the seven-pointed star is not just a symbol of the Faith of the Seven. It is a mark for a sinner to bear to do penance for his crimes,” the Silent Sister goes on to say.</p>
<p>Jaime shakes his head. “And here I thought the Faith was all about peace and love and all that bullshit.”</p>
<p>“All sins may be forgiven, but crimes must still be punished. That is one of the chief teachings of the holy text,” she tells him. “And over the centuries, people have taken that to mean a great many things.”</p>
<p>“Well, that certainly sheds a slightly different light on it,” Jaime mutters to himself, looking at the body on the table. “Which is <em>not</em> to say that I changed my mind that you should stay in your hotel room and just wait for my phone call, but that analysis is… not unhelpful.”</p>
<p>She looks at him. “I don’t need your praise, Mr. Lannister. That is my job.”</p>
<p><em>Oh, do you need it, though</em>, Jaime thinks to himself. <em>You live for it, don’t you? The praise, the approval, the validation? You probably don’t find it anywhere but on the job. Certainly not in a beauty contest.</em></p>
<p>“Yeah, don’t get used to it anyway. It’s probably the last time you’ll have heard that from me. I am rather stingy when it comes to compliments,” Jaime huffs. “Only few manage to impress me.”</p>
<p>In fact, most people only ever succeed in impressing him with their wickedness.</p>
<p>“Compliments are overrated anyway,” she replies.</p>
<p>“Right?!” he laughs. She doesn’t.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is sure to be great fun…</em>
</p>
<p>“I’d suggest that you let your colleagues look for cases that may involve similar carvings,” the Silent Sister adds. Jaime snorts at that. “I already did that, <em>of course</em>. One of the first things I did when I saw those carvings. Standard procedure for a detective, in case you didn’t read that in your books yet.”</p>
<p>He really can’t stand it to be educated by a rookie whose knowledge is only found in books and whose experience is all about composing a great argument meant to impress someone who never saw a crime scene and dove into the darkness of a person’s head either.</p>
<p>“Good,” she answers primly. “It is a relief to know that you do some things by the book at least.”</p>
<p>“I still wonder what you wanted to find in the guy’s guts, though,” Jaime comments, ignoring the stinging sensation in his neck.</p>
<p>The tall woman walks over to another table where she laid out the files she likely received from Robert alongside pictures from the scene. Some he recognizes, others he does not.</p>
<p>“Those came in a few minutes after I arrived at the morgue,” the Silent Sister recounts, pointing at the images Jaime didn’t see until just now. “The coroner at Castle Black found a one hundred stag bill in the ice.”</p>
<p>Jaime picks up the photo of the stag bill to hold it into the fluorescent light. “So money was exchanged. At least for the sake of the game in the killer’s eyes. Maybe to force a confession, to follow your argument.”</p>
<p>“Precisely. But nothing else was left behind. No evidence, no finger prints, no textile remains, no murder weapon. Whoever is doing this is rather meticulous in the execution. So why leave that bill with a serial number to be traced back, potentially?” she ponders aloud. And Jaime will have to give her that much, she asks some good questions, some of which she surely couldn’t just print in a future thesis.</p>
<p>“Well, if it got frozen over, I don’t suppose he had the time to blow on it to get it back out,” Jaime jokes. He is not surprised when she won’t laugh at that.</p>
<p>“I believe it was left there on purpose,” the Silent Sister declares instead.</p>
<p>Jaime tilts his head. “How so?”</p>
<p>“Sadly, while getting the body out of the ice, parts of the bill were damaged, but here are two marks on the serial number, each pointing to a particular digit,” the Silent Sister explains, pointing at the serial numbers on the photograph.</p>
<p>“Someone may have just doodled on them,” Jaime argues. “I surely did that before, and I don’t tend to puree people as part of my morning routine.”</p>
<p>“Do you think that?” she asks. “That someone just doodled on them?”</p>
<p>“No, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high, Sister. Sometimes things are far less magical than they are in your holy text,” Jaime replies.</p>
<p>People are messy and capable of terrible things, and there is nothing outstanding or mysterious about that. People like to think that it’s a grand mystery, why people murder, how people can take someone else’s life with such brutality, such hate, and all that at such ease. But the answer is actually so straightforward that it’s just hard to accept: There is no mystery. Given the right motivation, any person can and will kill.</p>
<p>“I have a feeling that the numbers may carry an additional message,” the Silent Sister insists. “My hope would be three numbers to be marked on the stag bill. That would most straightforwardly point to a book cipher with the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> as the key.”</p>
<p>“Book ciphers. So, something like page, line and word in the line. Oh, just like back in those young adult novels with kids working as detectives,” he laughs.</p>
<p>And those young detectives didn’t just solve the case, they won, they will always win, which makes them great heroes and heroines for children and teenagers but terrible reflections of the reality as a detective.</p>
<p>Because there is no winning in reality, just winning time, to maybe save another and another one still, before all light dies out and darkness overtakes you. Even when that means you won’t know how to save yourself in the end.</p>
<p>
  <em>Though I bet that woman devoured such books as a kid.</em>
</p>
<p>“It’s still an open question which publication of the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> it would be, but my guess would be a very old version as this person must have extensive knowledge of the old practices of the Faith Militant to even know of the practice of the sinner’s carvings. But yes, that is my hypothesis.”</p>
<p>“And why dig around the bowels, then?” Jaime snorts. “I don’t suppose you will find the missing digit there.”</p>
<p>“Some parts of the Faith Militant dictated strict dietary rules, especially for those who were found guilty of a punishable crime. I thought maybe they made him eat something before he died. I once encountered that in the study of a case and just wanted to be sure not to miss anything before acid destroyed any of the evidence. But nothing on that front. From the tests I can only see that the victim swallowed a lot of blood and a lot of water. Supposedly the murderer stuffed snow into his mouth to ensure he didn’t scream too loudly to alarm the others.”</p>
<p>She looks back at the man’s body, a mixture of emotions washing over her plain face Jaime can’t and doesn’t want to read much out of.</p>
<p>“See, and since I can admit that without being hurt in my male ego: those were some excellent observations. I’d be glad to consult you on those matters again some time. You can even lurk around the morgue for all I care. Maybe that will keep good old head pathologist from bringing in some uninvited guests,” Jaime tells her with a faux smile. “But I would really appreciate it if you otherwise kept out of my investigation and just stayed inside. You can say a little prayer for me if it pleases you, but I just better work alone.”</p>
<p>“So do I, but don’t let my <em>female</em> ego get in the way of that for the sake of an investigation, Detective,” she points out to him. Jaime is almost impressed with how much venom someone can put into her voice without actually raising it. Though she probably didn’t always act that way. If Jaime were to guess, he’d say the septa-not-a-septa normally would like to punch someone in the jaw for being cross with her. The way she holds her hands is her means of restraining herself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sucks to be stuck in your own body, though you just want to break out of it, doesn’t it?</em>
</p>
<p>“You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” he chuckles.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I would be here if I was not. And I don’t think you would be here if you weren’t stubborn yourself.”</p>
<p>“The skull’s as thick as the walls of Winterfell,” Jaime snorts, knocking his fist against his temple a few times. He laughs. She does not. Again.</p>
<p>
  <em>Damn, for women like that they invented the description “unsmiling”. </em>
</p>
<p>“Lannister!”</p>
<p>Both whip their heads around as they see a detective approach. Jaime would have to lie if he were to say he’d know the guy’s name.</p>
<p>“The one and only,” Jaime chuckles. “What gives?”</p>
<p>“You asked for information on cases involving such carvings. We got a hit,” the detective answers, holding up a beige folder. Jaime takes the folder from him, turns around and starts to dig through it.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he can hear the woman say to his colleague in a mild tone, as though she was apologizing on his behalf for being so rude. As though he should care for that. It’s their damned job to do that. For that you don’t deserve praise, only a kick in the ass for not getting it done sooner.</p>
<p>The other detective disappears again, intent to carry on with what Jaime assumes to be some very serious parking tickets.</p>
<p>Jaime can feel her big blue eyes drilling holes into the back of his head. He turns back around to flash a faux smile at her. “Well, that explains why I didn’t hear of it. The local department thought that a prostitute winding up dead is such a common thing that money is better invested in a visit to the brothel than a proper investigation.”</p>
<p>He hands the folder over to her. The Silent Sister nearly snaps it out of his fingers before taking a look at the information herself, her big blue eyes scanning the texts and images at record speed and even more record intensity.</p>
<p>“She doesn’t seem to have a carving,” she mutters.</p>
<p>“Not on the forehead, no.” Jaime grimaces.</p>
<p>The Silent Sister swallow thickly, visibly fighting for composure as she catches the meaning of his words banned on the images now in front of her. “By the Maiden.”</p>
<p>“Poor girl had that carved into the nether regions, yeah.” He studies the woman next to him. “Getting a little queasy here, Sister?”</p>
<p>“Not at all. I am just… I feel sorry for that woman. To be violated in that way.” She shakes her head. And say about her what you want, Jaime can tell that the Silent Sister is genuine in her sympathy. To her, those are certainly not just some empty phrases.</p>
<p>Jaime looks around, pondering his next move. Pycelle is nowhere near in sight, and the guy does not really have an eye for the details anyway. So if he wants to move on with the case, the obnoxious Silent Sister may be his best shot.</p>
<p>
  <em>For now.</em>
</p>
<p>“… Can you make sense of those wounds? They seem strange to me. It says in the report that she was found dead in the dumpsters, but those wounds on her back don’t look like blunt trauma to me,” he says, gesturing at the pictures.</p>
<p>“No, the skin by the shoulder blades was penetrated with a sharp object and then… <em>pulled</em> in some way. The bruising and the way the skin looks suggest that parts of the skin were stretched for a long time to separate it from muscle regions underneath,” the Silent Sister confirms.</p>
<p>Jaime smirks at her in just the rightly wrong way, making her shift uncomfortably. “You know what, Sister: I will treat you to a ride to where she was found. I don’t like the pathologist we have here. He is a total creep. You may be a pain in the ass, but you may be of help. I may use your big hand in that one – for now.”</p>
<p>“Fine by me,” she answers, which surprises him a bit. Jaime certainly expected her to put up more of a fight, demanding of him to show her the courtesy of asking her properly to help him.</p>
<p>Though Jaime surely hopes that taking her to a scene may show her her limits.</p>
<p>It’s a lesson you better learn before you overstep them when it is too dangerous.</p>
<p>He should know.</p>
<p>Because for him, it was and is too late.</p>
<p>“Alright, let’s go.”</p><hr/>
<p>By the time they make it to the warehouse, dusk is already falling.</p>
<p>“And you are sure we are right here?” the Silent Sister asks, closing the car door with a thud.</p>
<p>“Pretty damn sure, yeah,” he replies, proceeding to the warehouse.</p>
<p>Jaime knew right from the start that the girl was not killed in the dumpsters. The warehouse close by thus seemed to be the best shot.</p>
<p>
  <em>It may not be a great place to die at, but it is certainly a great place to kill someone. </em>
</p>
<p>Secluded enough for screams not to carry to the streets, but close enough to Silk Street to get a girl to come here on a busy night. And with the dumpsters not too far away, you don’t even have to load the girl into the car. You just drag her there and throw her on the trash.</p>
<p>“But she was found at the dumpsters,” the Silent Sister recounts. Jaime suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. She means well, after all.</p>
<p>“Indeed, but as I said, I am pretty damn sure we are right here.”</p>
<p>He proceeds ahead to the warehouse, not waiting for the Silent Sister to get used to her hypothesis being proven wrong.</p>
<p>As the building is unoccupied, getting inside is little trouble. Jaime pushes the big door open, the wheels carrying it wheezing. Jaime sniggers to himself when he bows down to gesture the Silent Sister to go in first. She only ever scowls at him, stepping inside without even grazing his outstretched hand.</p>
<p>He hops in after her, mildly amused. Inside, it’s not much warmer than on the outside.</p>
<p>The shadows are busy dancing through the broken windows and frames, painting grotesque images on the concrete walls. The wind blows dry leaves and dirt over the ground in perfect swirls.</p>
<p>Everything is covered with a thick layer of dust, graying it out like on a faded photograph. Those places always make it seem like time can actually stand still. Though time moved forward in some places, Jaime can see that much.</p>
<p>Dust was whirled up not long ago. And some things were left here that didn’t get eaten by the dust of time just yet.</p>
<p>
  <em>For that this place is unoccupied, there seem to be a few things on the move after all, even now…</em>
</p>
<p> “So you think she was murdered here?” the Silent Sister asks, her arms folded over her flat chest, visibly uncomfortable. Not that he blames her, really.</p>
<p>“Pretty damn sure, yeah.” He smiles. She doesn’t.</p>
<p>“This doesn’t look like a place people frequently go to, to stay at for… such business, though,” the Silent Sister comments, her big blue eyes bouncing up and down the walls, looking for something she is probably not sure of herself as to what it is.</p>
<p>“No, it isn’t, you are right. It’s too cold and too far away from Silk Street for prostitutes to outsource here on a regular basis. The prostitutes who don’t get to stay inside a cozy brothel will roam around Silk Street if they want to make a couple of stags,” Jaime comments, scanning the area for clues.</p>
<p>“So what was she doing here?”</p>
<p>“That’s the big question. Beside who her murderer is, of course,” Jaime answers.</p>
<p>They stop at the center of the main hall.</p>
<p>“The dust was whirled up here not too long ago,” she notes, looking at the ground. “And there is also dried blood… it’s not smeared but it spread quite far… that is strange.”</p>
<p>“Good observation there, Sister. Keep stirring that thought while I get the spices.” He starts to walk over to the metal ladder leading up to the platform above.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?” she demands to know.</p>
<p>“I have a notion. Now I have to see if my suspicion checks out,” Jaime answers. “After all, I said I was pretty damn sure, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“And will you share that suspicion?” the Silent Sister asks.</p>
<p>“If you ask me nicely,” he sniggers.</p>
<p>Of course she does not.</p>
<p>Jaime reaches the platform and start to walk around, tracing back the steps of the person who was here to kill that girl, upsetting the dust.</p>
<p>He walks with confidence, feeling the rush of his blood, hearing it in his ears. She won’t move anywhere anyway. He can keep an eye on the girl at all times. He prepared for it all, locked the doors, blocked the exit routes. After all, he wants to take his time. He can feel the power surge through his veins, making his blood run hot. To know that someone is at his will, completely at his mercy, it gives him power. To know that she won’t escape with sweet little lies this time. He won’t get over with it right away. That’s not enough. Not even the carving can keep his fingers from trembling with anticipation and disgust at the same time. He doesn’t want that stain on him, fearing it won’t wash. He knows her profession, knows the lies she moaned to her customers, knows she felt no shame for defiling herself like that. He knows what she does, what she stands for. And he wants, no, needs her to share in his shame. She has to show it so he can believe it at last, so he knows it’s not another sweet lie turning bitter on his tongue. He needs people to see her shame and what he is about to do with her to put it on display. They have to open their eyes to the truth. He has to force their eyes open to it. But a dead whore on the ground does not get attention. For that, he needs more. Or else, this will be for nothing. He will be for nothing, she will be for nothing until he makes her something. Something pure. A message, a slate wiped clean. And he will paint on her with her own blood…</p>
<p>“Detective?”</p>
<p>Jaime blinks, looking to where the girl, <em>no the Silent Sister</em>, is standing, observing his every step. The detective grunts, shaking his head. There is certainly more pleasant sights to be pulled back to.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thought at the very least, I still make it back somehow, for better or worse.</em>
</p>
<p>“I am working on it, geez,” he grumbles. Jaime stops when he sees something glistening on the ground. He bends down and picks up what he has been looking for. “Gotcha.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” the Silent Sister asks, <em>very</em> insisting this time.</p>
<p>“We can say one thing for sure: the murderer learned from this killing before he moved to the Wall to make a human popsicle. It didn’t go as planned this time,” Jaime announces, leaning over the railing with a self-conscious grin tugging at his lips.</p>
<p>She frowns at him from below. “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“My suspicion checks out. The murderer set up metal ropes on either side of the hall,” Jaime says, holding up the culprit for her to see.</p>
<p>“She was suspended midair,” the Silent Sister gasps. “That would also explain the strange droplets of blood. They fell down as she hung up there instead of just falling on the ground as she stood.”</p>
<p>“Yup. Now, for whatever reason, the murderer made that huge set up, but the rope tore. Judging by the thickness of the rope, he miscalculated her approximate weight and chose one that didn’t support her weight for long. She must have crashed to the ground at some point. As you noticed, you can still see some dust whirled up there, too.”</p>
<p>“So did the murderer come back to move her to the dumpster, you think?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Unlikely.” Jaime walks back over to the ladder and swiftly moves back down, meeting the Silent Sister in the middle of the room again.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take him long to confirm yet another suspicion, registering movement in an environment that is otherwise caught up in the past, unable to move, only granted to gain more and more dust.</p>
<p>Jaime smirks as he walks over to the big door they came through, gesturing at the Sister to follow quietly, which she gladly does without questioning.</p>
<p>“Let’s go report back to base. I left the phone in the car,” he calls out. The septa looks at him perplex as Jaime walks further away to a dirty window you can hardly see through before he stops in his tracks. He motions at the Sister to follow his lead and wait. Thankfully, she thinks better of it than ask stupid questions now.</p>
<p>After a while, they can hear movement inside. Jaime cocks his gun before rushing back into the warehouse. “Hands up to where I can see them, boy.”</p>
<p>“Fuck!” a dark-haired teenager shrieks.</p>
<p>“Language, boy,” Jaime laughs.</p>
<p>“What is going on here?” the Silent Sister wants to know, her eyes going back and forth between the two.</p>
<p>“I found us our witness, Sister!”</p>
<p>She blinks at him. “Witness?”</p>
<p>“I saw no shit,” the boy insists.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I bet,” Jaime huffs, his fingers almost hopping on the gun. “Look, I know that you and probably some of your friends are camping here. I saw your stuff in the other room when we walked in and took a look around. And honestly, I don’t much care about that. I just want to know what you saw and what you did when you found the body of that dead red-haired woman a couple of weeks ago.”</p>
<p>“I saw nothing. I don’t know what you are talking about, man.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps lowering your weapon may dissolve some of the tension, Detective?” the Silent Sister suggests. Jaime tries hard not to roll his eyes. Does she seriously believe he is going to shoot a teenager point blank like he did with Aerys?</p>
<p>“As a fair warning, you try to run, I shoot you in the leg, yeah?” he tells the boy.</p>
<p>Just because he knows he won’t doesn’t mean the boy needs to know it, too. Works every damn time, like a bloody charm.</p>
<p>“Fine, shit,” the dark-haired boy curses.</p>
<p>Jaime nods, then puts the gun back in the holster. “So, the girl.”</p>
<p>“I repeat: I didn’t see no shit. I don’t know any red-haired girls, fuck.”</p>
<p>Jaime sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You may be a dumbass, but you are smarter than that, boy. The girl wore a jacket that matches the trousers of the jogging suit you probably snatched somewhere. You put the jacket on her. You placed her in the dumpster across the street.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you are talking about.” The boy shakes his head fervently.</p>
<p>“You are repeating yourself, so I will repeat myself, too: I don’t care about you, boy. I just need to know what’s happened to the girl. Because the guy who did this to her is still out there. And I want to catch him before he can do such a thing again. <em>That’s</em> what I care about. I know you didn’t murder her. Little bastards who steal for other kids don’t tend to do that.”</p>
<p>“How do you…,” the boy mutters, barely moving his lips apart.</p>
<p>“I saw the toys with your things and you are not exactly the target group for those pink unicorn figures. If I were to guess, I’d think the kids are with another older child right now while you went out to get some supplies. Probably in another building, which is smart enough. Again, you didn’t murder her, I know that. I just need to know what you saw. Because I want to get the guy responsible for that shit.”</p>
<p>The boy looks at him for a long moment. “… You are the Kingslayer, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Jaime leans his head back. “Gee, you know your reputation is done for when even the homeless rats look down on you from the gutter… Anyway, yes, I am that guy. So you should understand what my profession is. I don’t want to turn you in. I don’t want to turn you over to CPS. I won’t tell anyone that you and your pals are here. I just want the girl’s story, that is all.”</p>
<p>The boy looks at him for a long moment, then at the Silent Sister.</p>
<p>“And what of you?” he wants to know.</p>
<p>“The same thing. I want to know her story. Because she can no longer tell it, but you still may,” she says in a mild tone.</p>
<p>The dark-haired boy contemplates for a long moment, life surely having taught him that no one beside his friends are anywhere near trustworthy. Nonetheless, he looks up at last and starts to speak up, “… We had to leave the building for a while because people came by more frequently. I came back at night to get our things to bring them to our new camp.”</p>
<p>“And that’s when you found her,” Jaime assumes.</p>
<p>“At first I thought she was just sleeping after getting high or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Well, she got high in another way, but that’s not the matter…,” Jaime sighs. “You found her, lying right there, yes?” He points at the spot they identified earlier.</p>
<p>The boy’s gaze follows his finger, then he nods his head in agreement, turning back his attention back to them. “Yeah. She was dead for a few hours already. I couldn’t do nothing no more. But I couldn’t call police either. They would have taken me into custody for sure. I’d be prime suspect, as some homeless, orphan rat from Flea Bottom. I couldn’t afford that. I have the kids to take care of. They ain’t got anyone else beside me and Willow. So I…”</p>
<p>“You wanted to get the dead girl out of there,” Jaime completes.</p>
<p>“I didn’t want her to rot away in here, man. I know they search the trash before they put it away on that dumpster. There’s always some precious metals in the cables and such to make worth a few stags. I was sure they’d find her and call police.” He bows his head.</p>
<p>“So you put her in the jacket after all.”</p>
<p>The boy shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t want her to just be out there like that. It’s enough what that sicko did to… I thought it was the least I could do.”</p>
<p>“And after that, you moved her across to the dumpster and prepped her up so she would be found the next morning, yes?” Jaime questions.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the boy says, chewing on the inside of his cheek, hugging his torso.</p>
<p>“All alone.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Alright, that explains it,” Jaime announces, looking over to the Silent Sister, then back at the teenager.</p>
<p>“Will you turn me in now?” the boy wants to know.</p>
<p>“Did you murder her?” Jaime asks.</p>
<p>The boy frowns at him. “No?”</p>
<p>“Then I won’t turn you in now. Though I will find you and hunt you down if you have any part in her killing, that’s for sure,” Jaime tells him, leaving no doubt that this is not just some empty threat.</p>
<p>“I did nothing to no one,” the boy insists, puckering his lips.</p>
<p>“I bet. Now, I know you probably don’t care for advice from a rich police guy, but if you can, move somewhere else. This area is not really safe for kids like you and your friends. Especially if you have girls in your company. There are guys who roam the streets, looking for girls to force down Silk Street. And that’s just a few blocks away.”</p>
<p>“I know,” the boy grumbles. “We are careful.”</p>
<p>“Why stay here, then?” Jaime asks.</p>
<p>“We move around, never stay anywhere forever, but I want to stay in the area. We lost someone and I want her to find us again. If we move to wherever, no chance she’s gonna get back to us.” He looks down.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh gee, he probably misses his runaway girlfriend. Teenage tragedy right out of the dumpsters. How beautifully tragic.</em>
</p>
<p>“Whoever your friend is, she either escaped and won’t come back, or she didn’t and she is dead. Sorry to break it to you,” Jaime tells him. “So you’d best move on before you get into any more trouble.”</p>
<p>“That’s not up to you to say!” the boy snarls, gritting his teeth.</p>
<p>
  <em>Never underestimate teenagers on hormones. They reach peak levels of lack of sense.</em>
</p>
<p>“I am just making an educated guess, based on way too much experience,” Jaime tells him. And in his experience, there are no happy ending stories like they have them on TV. The girl is gone, he probably won’t ever see her back, and if he doesn’t watch it, the rest of the younger kids will suffer a similar destiny unless they manage to find themselves a better place.</p>
<p>“Well, I give a shit on your education. If she comes back, she’ll be found. It’s just that easy!” the boy curses. Though in reality, he is having just those thoughts, Jaime can tell. He is just too stubborn to give up just yet. And really, Jaime would like to be wrong about the matter, but it doesn’t seem likely.</p>
<p>“No reason to get upset,” he says, making sure to keep his voice light. “I won’t steal your little girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“She ain’t my girlfriend!”</p>
<p>“I bet you want her to be, though.” Jaime smirks. The boy glowers at him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jackpot.</em>
</p>
<p>“Anyway, I do what I think is right for the kids,” the boy tells them. “I did that well before you came here.”</p>
<p>“Alright. In that case…” Jaime reaches into his pocket and holds out a few folded stag bills alongside his card. “There is an inn down the street. They don’t ask questions so long you are quiet and pay up. If you find yourself in trouble, go there.”</p>
<p>The teen feels tempted to just take it, but past experiences surely taught him to mistrust anyone, now with a badge or without. “Why would you help us?”</p>
<p>“Because I may have to ask you some more question later and if you are dead in a ditch, I don’t have anyone to consult on the matter. Easy as that. I am not the fuckin’ charity and I don’t pretend to be. You might still be useful, that’s why. Good enough?”</p>
<p>The boy grimaces, but then snaps the items from Jaime’s fingers.</p>
<p>“And now you can get lost again. The Silent Sister and I still have to do some more investigating. Since we will call in the rest of the squad soon, you better grab your shit and leave so that I won’t have you stomp on any more evidence. Understood?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Then off you go,” Jaime shoos him away.</p>
<p>The boy says nothing before disappearing in the side room to gather the meager belongings they have, belongings that shouldn’t all fit into one big sports bag and a rucksack.</p>
<p>And just like he came, the boy is gone again, waiting for a girl he may never see again, no matter how long he and his friends camp in the area.</p>
<p>
  <em>But hope dies last and all that. It’s people that die much easier than that.</em>
</p>
<p>Jaime glances up to the broken window where the lights have since faded away as the night crept up on the walls some time ago.</p>
<p>“I expected you to interrupt me much more often, Sister,” he comments with a smile. In fact, he feared she’d blow it all before he could even begin to question the boy. Thus, he was positively surprised when she didn’t.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe there is wonder after all. No gods, but wonder at least.</em>
</p>
<p>“If I had known a better solution, I would have spoken up. But I don’t believe he’d go to one of the orphanages of the Faith, or any orphanage in general,” the Silent Sister answers, barely moving her lips apart as she speaks.</p>
<p>“Not if he wants to pray to the Father for the rest of his life while being beaten with a stick. Anyway. I still had something to show off, right? Now that I talked to the little guy, I find myself all the more vindicated. This murder was a rather sloppy first attempt. Either it was the first time the guy killed at all or he ran out of time or resources. He wanted to set a sign with her, but because of the shitty setup with the ropes, that went down the drain. The ropes tore and she crashed to the ground, looking just like any other dead prostitute. When the boy moved her, he removed the message the murderer was so desperate to send. Must have pissed the guy off, if he ever found out.”</p>
<p>“So he really suspended her midair to leave her on display,” the Silent Sister sighs, shaking her head, looking at the spot where the poor girl probably hung in the air for a sick message some sick guy wanted to send to compensate for some personal issue of his.</p>
<p>“The guy definitely has a thing for theatrics.”</p>
<p>“What a terrible destiny to suffer.” She folds her hands as though saying a little prayer.</p>
<p>“Destiny had little to do with that, sister,” Jaime huffs dismissively. “So, does that ring any bell with you when it comes to the holier than thou text of all texts? The suspending midair, I mean?”</p>
<p>“There are multiple passages in the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> talking about flying birds and such. There is also the verse from the Song of the Seven: <em>The Maiden dances through the sky, she lives in every lover’s sigh. Her smiles teach the birds to fly, and gives dreams to little children</em>,” she ponders. “If we take into account that she was also seen as a sinner and her being a prostitute, the juxtaposition of her and the Maiden may fit with the fashion in which she was killed.”</p>
<p>“Well, the Maiden may not just give sweet dreams to children but also nightmares. Fuckin’ hell.” Jaime shakes himself. His job prepared him for that kind of stuff, and still, it makes his stomach turn. Even more so when he has to dig deep into those sickos’ sick fantasies, share in their satisfaction at other peoples’ pain.</p>
<p>He will burn for that, too, eventually, once hell opens the gates for him, all too easily.</p>
<p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all…</em>
</p>
<p>“At the very least, she didn’t suffer long,” the woman comments through pursed lips. Jaime frowns at that. “Didn’t she?”</p>
<p>“She suffered through the carving, but after that, she was suffocated with some fabric put over her mouth. She was not strangled, though. The levitation came <em>post mortem</em>. I could tell that much from the photographs,” the Silent Sister tells him.</p>
<p>It is strange how that can be a relief, but in his line of work, any suffering that didn’t take place definitely counts as a success.</p>
<p>
  <em>Which is sick enough.</em>
</p>
<p>“So the killer definitely stepped up the game when it came to the architect at the Wall. Because that guy suffered through all of it,” Jaime mutters, running his thumb over his chin.</p>
<p>“Perhaps he considered her crimes not as bad as the ones of the architect?” the Silent Sister suggests.</p>
<p>“Or he couldn’t bring himself to it. When you do your first kill, there is a lot of agitation, lots of uncertainty, at least for most. Some even chicken out. When you kill again, you overcome those initial fears. You become more confident – and more daring, more violent. It’s a bit like a learning curve in violence and sickness. They work their way up to the not at all kinky stuff.”</p>
<p>“At the very least she received some kindness from this boy in her death,” the Silent Sister comments solemnly.</p>
<p>Jaime can only ever laugh drily at this. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? She was dead already. And she died because of that bastard. Whether she was left hanging there or put on the dumpster or bedded on flowers and white silks won’t change a thing about the fact that this guy mutilated her, suffocated her, and then used her naked body as a sick message to the world.”</p>
<p>“I agree, it’s just… comforting to think that,” she argues, fidgeting with her hands she is so desperate to restrain. Jaime can sense her tension, but he can’t be bothered to keep her damned bubble intact where the afterlife makes you forget about all the shit you suffered through before you ended up in one of those Seven Heavens.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Sister, but such comfort is no more than a pretty illusion. A lie we like to tell ourselves. There is no nice note to that story. No uplifting coda. She probably came here unaware to have some client fuck her in the not at all romantic location here, and while she prepared herself for another round of rancid breath in her neck and having to act like his limp dick inside her ass felt any good, she didn’t prepare for a guy to cut a symbol in her nether regions before taking her last breath away, literally so. She found no comfort here in life or in death.”</p>
<p>The people Aerys killed didn’t die happily, even though Jaime eventually got the guy who cooked them alive. It brought no justice to their deaths, didn’t set the record straight. And it won’t do the trick for this girl, no matter how much the Silent Sister may pray for the Seven to pretty please be kind to that poor woman’s soul.</p>
<p>The only comfort in death is that the suffering is over. Unless, of course, the Seven Hells exist after all and you are straightly headed there. In which case the suffering simply goes on and on and on and on.</p>
<p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all…</em>
</p>
<p>The Silent Sister looks at him for a long moment, then focuses her attention on the ground, so she won’t have to look at him, surely. “… I will have the body moved to the morgue at the department for further inspection.”</p>
<p>“Probably for the better. They didn’t do much of a good job at gathering the evidence first chance they got,” Jaime agrees. “Then let’s get out of here. I think we saw all that we had to see. The rest we can leave to the cleanup team.”</p>
<p>They exit the warehouse, leaving it back in the limbo of a deep slumber Jaime himself wished he had but knows he won’t ever have. Because life can still go on, it can end there, dangling by a single thread, and yet, the dust stays mostly undisturbed. Time stands still and only the shadows come out to dance.</p>
<p>Upon reaching the exit, Jaime is mildly amused when she gestures at him to go ahead, pushing the heavy door back close behind him.</p>
<p>He glances up the sky, not surprised that no single star manages to break through the thick smoke and smog hanging above the city like a black veil. It just seems to be fitting.</p>
<p>“Alright, where do I drop you off?” he asks as he walks in direction of his car.</p>
<p>“I was just about to call a taxi,” the Silent Sister answers, frowning. He rolls his eyes. “I am being nice and save you from the indignity in sitting in dried piss and probably some shit and semen, too in the backseat of a taxi here in King’s Landing, Sister. Take the offer before I change my mind.”</p>
<p>She considers for one, two, three seconds, then makes the smart decision to follow him to his car. Jaime chuckles to himself as he unlocks it and climbs inside. He watches with mild amusement as the tall woman slowly folds herself into his car like a pocketknife. She’d have it easier if he drove a van, certainly. But that’s not his problem, is it?</p>
<p>“So? Which hotel? I hope Robert didn’t give you one on Silk Street. They tend to be… not too quiet around the sleeping hours,” Jaime chuckles, starting the engine.</p>
<p>She puts on her seatbelt. “The Great Sept of Baelor, if it is not too much of a bother to ask.”</p>
<p>“You know, service is only on Sunday,” Jaime tells her with a grimace.</p>
<p>“I am aware,” the Silent Sister says through pursed lips. “I just want to say some prayers for the victims.”</p>
<p>“You know it won’t change anything for them, right?”</p>
<p>“It changes something for me.”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “Fair enough.”</p>
<p>Jaime pulls out to the main street. Traffic is not that busy at that hour. Things would be different on a weekend, of course. Then the dead in the city come out to dance. Now, the roads are just a long chain of orange street lights fading into one big stripe the faster you go. And the dead are asleep until it’s their time to rise again.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ll burn with the rest of you. But I will rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn my enemies to ash. I will rise again, you will see. And we’ll all burn together. Burn! Burn! Burn!</em>
</p>
<p>Jaime clenches his jaw, finding the echoes of that man’s voice inside his head overbearing. “… Alright, I will bite. Say something. I don’t want to listen to the radio. It’s all hour for power or techno music at that time of the day, which is no healthy mix if you asked me.”</p>
<p>Even her judgmental voice is better than that man laughing at him even from his grave. Because he is one of the few dead who don’t ever go to sleep.</p>
<p>The Silent Sister opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly gathering her thoughts before asking, “Are you practicing your faith, Detective?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it takes a profiler to know that I am one of those believers who were born to believe and since then only ever bothered when they got dragged to the sept by the parents. I hope that does not tarnish your already bad opinion of me further,” Jaime answers, grinning without meaning it.</p>
<p>“My bad opinion stems for your attitude, not your relationship between you and the Seven. That is a most private matter I’d never mean to interfere with,” she says in that almighty way Jaime learned to detest throughout the years. He is just so done being judged by other people who wouldn’t know about him even if they bothered to care.</p>
<p>“<em>Please</em>, you don’t just have a bad opinion on me based on my attitude. You have a bad opinion of me because of what you read, what you saw flicker on the screen, what the yellow press had to say about me without ever talking to me,” Jaime scoffs. “The bad attitude just confirms you in the views you already held when you came here, never having talked to me personally.”</p>
<p>You see what you want to see. And you blur out all the rest. It’s one of the wonderful mechanisms of the human brain to make sense of an ever so complicated world. Because in a world where you can always confirm what you think you know by just looking at the surface, there is no in-betweeness, no gray areas and dark spots on an otherwise clean slate.</p>
<p>“If that is what you choose to believe,” she sighs, looking out the window, watching the city lights rush past them.</p>
<p>“That is not what I believe, that is what I know based on years of professional experience and… having lived the life I lived. Because your attitude is the fuckin’ story of my life ever since Aerys Targaryen wheezed one last time before the lights went out, pissing and shitting himself like any other, Sister. So how about we are honest with each other?”</p>
<p>“I am honest with you.”</p>
<p>“Then how comes you give me the stink eye now?” he snorts. “<em>Honestly</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>Honestly</em>, foremost I am disappointed,” the Silent Sister answers, not looking at him at all, her eyes firmly fixed on the road.</p>
<p>“Disappointed? Now, <em>that’s</em> an interesting twist. It supposes you had some higher opinion of me which I did not meet. How did I come to that honor?” Jaime laughs. He doesn’t even know just why he gets so giddy from the anger he feels boiling up in his stomach – or why he even bothers with her opinion of him.</p>
<p>What does he care what she thinks about him? Her opinion doesn’t matter. The opinions of the people whispering don’t matter. Because none of them know. None of them saw what he saw, smelled what he smelled, felt what he felt.</p>
<p>And Jaime is just about done being told what his reality is.</p>
<p>“I already found it a pity back when I got my PhD that you refused to ever teach a class, let alone give a talk at a school or university. You have such vast knowledge to share with the world and you just keep it to yourself. I don’t know how often I requested to the Silent Sisters to try to get you there to speak about the psychology of the murderers you caught. You always resolutely refused,” she informs him. “And that is something I found a huge disappointment.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t tell them to fuck off, though. I was rather kind about it,” Jaime snorts. Though the Silent Sister certainly knows how to surprise. He probably should have remembered that he got some of those requests in the past, but how was he supposed to know that it was this very insistent, not at all silent Silent Sister who wanted him to speak at her stupid convent? And how is that his problem?</p>
<p>
  <em>And anyway, none of them are prepared for the ugly truths of the job. If you want to keep people motivated to become detectives chasing those sick bastards, you do best not letting them know just how easily that will turn you into a sick bastard, too.</em>
</p>
<p>Jaime just doesn’t want those sickos and murderers to become legends, anecdotes to be dropped in a course meant to get people interested in solving crime. He wants those bastards to be forgotten about, to fade into the blackness from whence they came and never come back. He wants them to pale from history, collective memory, so their importance is reduced to what it should be, the absolute bare minimum. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to revisit it. Because revisiting upsets the dust on some of those boxes he buried so very deep. And he can’t have that. He simply can’t.</p>
<p>“How gracious. My point is… I kept going over and over the few reports made available to the public that you wrote, now be it the scarce records about the Aerys Targaryen case, Big Belly Ben, the Smiling Knight, or the Harrenhal files. They are exemplary in terms of analysis, investigative work, and attention to detail. I was honestly very much excited to come here and use the opportunity to learn from you.”</p>
<p>“And then I thought you were our male intern and since then you hate me?” Jaime suggests.</p>
<p>“No, since then I got to see that you are very much alike the men you define yourself against. <em>That</em> is what I find disappointing. Or, to use an old word I tend to think describes it best, it shows that you are far more craven than you take yourself to be.”</p>
<p>“<em>Craven</em>,” he repeats. “Now, I can truthfully say no one’s ever called me that. And I have been called <em>many</em> things.”</p>
<p>Leave it to a woman like this Silent Sister to call him archaic names. There is a first for everything.</p>
<p>“As have been other people,” she huffs. “That is not what makes you exceptional.”</p>
<p>“I think I am a pretty fuckin’ exception,” he retorts. “At the very least, I never found someone like me.”</p>
<p>The tall woman shakes her head, folding her arms over her flat chest. “In your line of work you are exceptional, surely. As for the rest… I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think you know me too little to pass judgment just yet? And anyway, isn’t that something we ought to leave to the Father Above?” Jaime scoffs.</p>
<p>Really, this shouldn’t be getting to him. Maybe he should have taken off a day before heading back in after he flew back and forth from the North to here. But here they are now, and all he can think about is how he wants her to shut up, shut up, shut up.</p>
<p>“Oh, by all means, prove me wrong. I shall be waiting, Detective,” the Silent Sister scoffs. “You can stop the car over there. I will walk the rest of the way.”</p>
<p>“And here I thought I was supposed to play gentleman for a pious woman,” Jaime huffs, pulling into the next best parking lot.</p>
<p>“That’s all just empty acts anyway,” she replies, though Jaime is sure this is not only directed at him.</p>
<p>Because people always take out on others what they can’t take out on the people who first inflicted the wound – and he is no exception there, for once.</p>
<p>“Ah, so <em>that’s</em> where we are going with this.” Realization cracks across his face, leaving him slightly grinning.</p>
<p>She frowns. “Pardon?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, nothing.” He smiles. She doesn’t.</p>
<p>“I just want to reiterate this one thing before I go, Mr. Lannister: I have any interest to catch this murderer. I believe you share in that goal. Any efforts of yours to dissuade me will be futile and is contrary to the goal we both want to achieve. The faster you give up on your hope that I will just go back home and look at the issue from afar just because you treat me the way you do, the faster we can move on with the investigation and can bring justice to those who died for the wickedness of that man.”</p>
<p>“Justice.” He lets the word roll over his tongue, finding its taste as usually bitter. He laughs, trying not to choke on it.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you expect me to promise you to play by the rules? Sister, I am rather stingy when it comes to promises, too. They tend to be… too binding.”</p>
<p>She bows her head. “I wouldn’t want you to promise me anything.”</p>
<p>“Because you wouldn’t believe it. Which is telling. You believe in magical figures that are seven and one at the same time rather than a man keeping his word,” Jaime snorts. He can see her hands restraining themselves, keeping her from what would otherwise be a scream, a shout, maybe even a punch thrown his way.</p>
<p>
  <em>And it’s terrible, isn’t it? Not to be allowed to act on it?</em>
</p>
<p>“I just want to know what I have to prepare for, working this case with you. Whether you want to or not, I am here and I am not going away until this case is solved. I just want to know what else I have to put up with when it comes to you, beside having to dive into the wicked world of this individual we try to catch,” she answers, clenching her jaw.</p>
<p>“Always prepare for the worst and double it, Sister, that’s the best advice I can give you. But when it comes to me… I am more of a tame lion. If you don’t slow me down in the investigation, I suppose I can ignore you playing the angel on my shoulder reprising in her role as the conscience I never had.”</p>
<p>The Silent Sister lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Thank you. I can very well live with that.”</p>
<p>He shrugs his shoulders. “Frugal. I suppose that’s one of your virtues as a Silent Sister, huh?”</p>
<p>“No, life just taught me not to expect too much from people.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough, too,” he chuckles softly.</p>
<p>“Then I will see you tomorrow morning. “ She unbuckles her seatbelt. Not a question, a statement.</p>
<p>“I don’t think you are hard to miss,” Jaime replies, grinning.</p>
<p>“Seven blessings to you, Detective,” she says, opening the door.</p>
<p>“<em>Good night</em>, Sister.”</p>
<p>With that, the tall woman unfolds herself out of the car and quickly makes her way across the road. Jaime watches the Silent Sister stride up the marble stairs leading up to the pompous sept they rebuilt many years ago to celebrate that which now motivates a guy to carve sigils into poor girls’ cunts.</p>
<p>Jaime lingers a while longer, for no reason, really. He watches the Silent Sister stop before the sept’s entrance, dipped into the orange light of the street lights. Even from afar, he can see the awe flare up on her homely face as she takes in the sept. And no small part of himself envies this stubborn woman right there.</p>
<p>Because she can still believe.</p>
<p>“I need a drink. Fuck.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Where the Truth Lies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime takes Sister Brienne along on a little mission down Silk Street, hoping that it will teach the stubborn Silent Sister a lesson.</p><p>They both may be in for a number of surprises, though, not all of which are for the better.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello to those who dare stick with this story! Thanks for staying around and for the kind comments you left me. They mean a lot to me (as do kudos, of course). </p><p>Anyway, this chapter is somewhat longer, but I didn't want to split up the arc.</p><p>I hope you'll enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death is not the end of a story.</p><p>Most people tend to think that once your life ended, your story is written, the ink is dried, the chapter is closed. Brienne had a suspicion, very early on in her life, that this couldn’t be the whole truth to the inner workings of life and death.</p><p>And later on, when she began her studies, she found her suspicion confirmed. The story of a dead person does not end with the heart stopping to beat. It doesn’t end with brain activity ceasing. <em>Not necessarily, at least.</em></p><p>But there is a necessary component for the story to resume: the story needs an audience, daring to listen to the smallest of whispers, looking for the tiniest details, to have just enough ink for a few more words into a new chapter well after the line <em>The End</em>. If there is no one there to listen, the story will end, though it is far from done.</p><p>The dead can no longer speak, but the body speaks for itself. It murmurs, it shows, reveals itself. It is a testament of its own that only those can put into words and writing who examine closely. And in that way, even the dead can be given a voice, though Brienne will never hear them speak it for themselves.</p><p>
  <em>That’s what I have to do for them.</em>
</p><p>Brienne, to this day, finds it a great honor that she learned from the best of the best to listen to those words hidden in the flesh, how to interpret the signs in hair, in cells, in the blood. It gave sense to her world, gave meaning to a life she thought had ended somehow.</p><p>Her purpose is to speak on the behalf of those who can’t raise their voice anymore.</p><p>Because the Silent Sisters aren’t silent, not even when they were still forbidden from speaking aloud. Their work, their service to the dead was a language of its own and the echo of their knowledge, their understanding of life and death, echoes into the here and now.</p><p>And no matter what that oh so clever detective may have to say about it, Brienne still believes that those things matter. That a jacket given to a dead girl undeserving of the destiny she suffered did indeed continue her story, gave meaning to her that last chapter when her death was devoid of all sense. Brienne firmly believes that such things make a difference, because she understood that the truth lies in the details, in the things that don’t reveal themselves to you at first sight.</p><p>
  <em>I have to believe that. Or else my existence does not make any difference either.</em>
</p><p>There is meaning to what she does, just like there is meaning hidden in flesh and blood. In the hidden meanings, there lies absolute truth, a quality so rare these days that it almost seems like it jumped out of a fable. The dead don’t lie. Even if they did in life, their bodies can’t speak falsehoods. The only thing faulty can be the interpretation of the messages they leave behind.</p><p>
  <em>But the better I become, the better my reading will be. And the better my reading, the better I can tell the story they can no more.</em>
</p><p>Brienne leans down in front of the girl’s body they brought in earlier this morning, the light above making her naturally pale skin even paler, almost as white as the sheet wrapped around her waist.</p><p>Brienne arrived early to have a look at her in silence and without unwelcome distractions she knows are only as far away as the detective currently is. Wherever he is. Judging by the smell of his breath yesterday, it may very well be behind a bar where the bartender lets him crash for another night of excess.</p><p>How that man ever was as good as he undoubtedly must have been remains a mystery to her. So much to give, so much natural talent for all she heard, and the best the man can do is drown his self-pity in bourbon and way too many cigarettes. She felt more than tempted to throw out the full ashtray when they drove to the warehouse.</p><p>Brienne shakes her head, trying to shake the images of the man grinning at her out of her mind as well. He is not her concern. This girl is. The first victim is. Their stories are. That is why she came here.</p><p>
  <em>This is my purpose and I will keep serving it. No one will stop me from it.</em>
</p><p>She bends down to examine the girl’s throat another time, looking for details she may have missed the first time.</p><p>The girl was a beauty, she is even now in her death. Pale and delicate. Thick red hair. Full lips that surely formed a charming smile. By all standards, an attractive woman who knew how to charm with her smile and likely her personality, too. A pretty girl without a name who died because of the sickness in another person. A pretty girl whose story would have ended in a dumpster, hadn’t they read the signs.</p><p>Brienne will do whatever it takes to let her story resume, and give a name to the book of the girl’s life which was lost for now. After all, that is her vow, not just as someone who has since sought the life of the Silent Sisters but also as someone who swore to herself to shed light on the darkness hiding in her own family. About those incidents not spoken about, the incidents that never made it into the book, to make sense of a past Brienne can only remember in passing as she was still too young to remember most of it.</p><p><em>Was I wrong to come here, though? </em>The thought comes to her suddenly and she tries her best not to let it travel past her robes. Brienne has no use for that sort of doubt. She has to appear more confident than she often finds herself to be. Even more so if she wants to make this work with Detective Lannister.</p><p>Brienne said it to him last night already. She is not fond of working with him, but she will do whatever is necessary to help. Because she can, if only given the chance. He just has to let her. And even if he does not, she will keep pushing. Brienne is used to that. She knocked boys and men into the dust for all her life. A Jaime Lannister won’t make a difference there.</p><p>
  <em>They are all the same in the end, are they not?</em>
</p><p>Nonetheless, she can’t help but wonder, now that she is here in King’s Landing, working on this case she so readily agreed to when the call came. Was it the right decision to come here? The Elder Sister of the convent urged her to consider most carefully. After all, Brienne is due for a great decision, an even greater commitment if she is to choose it. And it surely must have seemed like she was running from it, when, of course, Brienne is ready to embrace it.</p><p>Because she keeps her vows once they are made. And Brienne has no intention to back down from a plan she made that carried her out of the darkness of her own making. She will make her life worth it.</p><p>“You know, the dead don’t talk.”</p><p>Brienne whips her head around to see the detective strolling inside, carrying himself with the kind of laid-back attitude that makes Brienne’s fists clench to the point where it hurts her knuckles. She can stomach someone joking on the job, but there is a carefreeness with which he looks upon the dead that makes her question why she ever wanted to have him speak at the convent.</p><p>“The dead speak to those who dare listen,” Brienne argues. “The Silent Sisters understand that listening is sometimes much more important than being one to talk. And a good morning to you, too.”</p><p>“Ah, sorry, the formalities. Top of the morning to you and all,” he laughs, though his smile carries no ounce of joy. “So? What is that dead body whispering to you, then? To put on some lipstick?”</p><p>Brienne straightens up, blowing out air through her nostrils. “Judging by what the tests still provided, she likely worked for more upper-class customers. She didn’t contract sexually transmitted diseases. She didn’t take drugs. She didn’t overdrink. She didn’t have sexual intercourse at least a couple of hours before she died. There are no signs that she was raped. We found traces of a chemical that is a byproduct of digestion of what’s commonly known as Sweetsleep.”</p><p>“Sweetsleep, now that’s old-fashioned,” the detective comments, grimacing.</p><p>“But largely effective. Part of the reason why it has been in use for so long is that it isn’t easily identifiable by taste. Though you need to know the dosage when you don’t want to kill someone but use it only as means to make someone lose consciousness.”</p><p>“And did the murderer overdose?” he wants to know.</p><p>Brienne shakes her head. “She died of suffocation, as I suggested last night. The dosage was little enough to make her somewhat sleepy.”</p><p>The detective wrinkles his nose, looking at the body on the table pensively. “So the guy probably offered a drink to loosen up the mood.”</p><p>“It seems likely. If what you proposed back at the warehouse is true, then Sweetsleep will also have had some effect of lessening the pain. It numbs the senses to some degree so the consumer can ease into sleep,” Brienne explains.</p><p>It was the smallest of comforts that the girl’s suffering was not as long as she first feared it to have been. It was still unnecessary, but at the very least, it was over sooner than it was for Mr. Yarwick.</p><p>“If she was for the upper-class, it leaves you wondering why she was ordered to some warehouse for a job, though,” the detective ponders aloud, scratching his unkempt beard. “Those guys prefer hotels where they can stuff some stag bills into the concierge’s pocket so he forgets that he ever saw them come out of the room all red-faced and with a bulge in the pants.”</p><p>“I couldn’t find traces of the inlay of a car trunk, such as fabric, which makes it unlikely that she was moved to the location and then disposed there… for display,” Brienne adds.</p><p>“She walked in there, I’m rather sure of that,” he says. “I found some footsteps around the corner of the house before the little rat showed up. Most people don’t come there wearing high heels.”</p><p>“And like it is with the architect, no trace of the murder weapon – or the girl’s clothes,” Brienne notes, resisting the urge to run her hands over her robes.</p><p>“For some reason the murderer took these.”</p><p>“Do you think the murderer disposed of them?” Brienne asks, to which he only ever shrugs his shoulders. “He may have. We wouldn’t know even if he did. If he threw them away, he was probably clever enough to put them somewhere where they wouldn’t be found or be burned with the rest of garbage lying around. I have little hope that we will find them.”</p><p>“But it’s possible he took them?” Brienne wants to know. While he may not agree, she is also here to learn. And while her faith in him has since been roughly shaken, Brienne cannot deny that the man possess a talent she can only ever aspire to strive after with hard labor and great effort. She will learn all she can, even from masters who are not at all of her choosing. If only to find some new way of continuing the stories of those whose last chapters were not yet discovered and spoken in their name.</p><p>“Some murderers like to keep trophies. Others see them as reminders or memorabilia of what they believed they achieved with such a murder. And some just use it to jerk off as they can’t get an orgasm otherwise,” the detective says with nonchalance.</p><p>She can tell that he is checking for her reaction, though the detective seems greatly disappointed when she won’t grant him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm for the sake of his language.</p><p>He steps closer, looking at the woman on the table. “And so, we don’t know who she is. Which I believe is part of what made that kill so gratifying for the murderer without the kind of violence we saw on the architect. She was meant to be a symbol. And symbols aren’t supposed to have names.”</p><p>“But she surely mattered to someone,” Brienne mutters.</p><p>“One would hope. But to the murderer, that didn’t make a shit of a difference. To him, she was just a piece of paper to write his message on. A whore who deserved to die for her oh so great sins for offering her services.” He shakes his head.</p><p>“Just what was she doing there, all alone?” Brienne asks.</p><p>“Well, her boss likely ordered her to do the deed. Those girls don’t have much of a choice. If she worked upper-class, she surely didn’t want to return to walking up and down Silk Street, leaning into any stranger’s car for a blowjob around the next corner,” the detective mutters pensively. “Which is why I will be heading to Silk Street tonight. Maybe someone knew her and can tell me who employed her. It may well be that the boss actually talked to the murderer – and even if not, may have spied on him to get the information of where she was headed to for the <em>special assignment</em>.”</p><p>“And you suppose that I would rather stay clear of Silk Street, I assume.” Brienne chews on the inside of her cheek, trying her best to ensure that her voice remains even. That man knows how to read people. That is his job, and undoubtedly, he is good at what he does or else he wouldn’t be here after all that happened it came to the Mad King case.</p><p>Thus, Brienne knows that she has to be alert, has to keep herself guarded. Any weakness she shows he will know how to exploit. And the moment she no longer suits his purposes, Brienne knows he will do whatever it takes to get her off the case again.</p><p>“Sister, I would not want to expose your most innocent soul to the sinful world of leather bikinis, strap-ons, lap dances, and some very ugly, needy men getting their pitifully small and wrinkly cocks sucked because at home even their wives won’t touch that stinking thing anymore.”</p><p>She sighs. “The innocence of my soul is still my affair and my affair alone, Detective.”</p><p>He shakes his head. Brienne grimaces. There is an unknown layer to his frustration she can’t put her finger on. After all, that is not her expertise. If she proved anything in her past, then it is that she is utterly unable to read people who know how to lie, who know how to snarl behind their teeth while flashing the brightest of smiles.</p><p>Brienne can’t speak for the living, she can only speak for those who no longer have a voice to speak.</p><p>
  <em>And that man surely knows how to keep talking.</em>
</p><p>“Sister, I am playing nice here,” he tells her then, sounding almost mild in his tone. “I just can’t have an uptight septa sitting next to me as I question either the girls who will likely shut down when they see you or the bosses who will do the same thing, but just because your silent judgment will make them fall very silent. The girls will likely feel intimidated.”</p><p>“I don’t think a woman wearing a seven-pointed star is as intimidating as some of the men they are bound to do service for,” Brienne argues, clenching her jaw. After all, she has the example of just that violence on her table right now, without a name and no one there to mourn her.</p><p>Brienne knows that she can be intimidating. She is tall. Has a built fitting better on a man than a woman. She has a certain reputation, at least for those who heard of it. But women are not intimidated by her, really. At least Brienne never got the impression. Men are intimidated by her. Because she speaks up, she won’t accept, she won’t submit. Women are at best irritated by her but not really threatened.</p><p>“Your pendant has little to do with that,” the detective replies. “You embody something completely opposite to their lives, something some of those girls may even secretly crave.”</p><p>Brienne purses her lips, not knowing how to counter. She clenches her fists, digging her blunt nails into her palms.</p><p>“I am not saying that to piss you off or to insult you for once, but you will intimidate them and I can’t have that if I want to question them. They are about the only lead we currently have to find out who that girl was and how she ended up right here in front of us,” he adds.</p><p>“And they won’t be intimidated by a cop?” she asks.</p><p>He laughs at that, though his smiles bear no meaning. “Do you sincerely think I am going to ask as a cop unless I have to?”</p><p>“Well, then it seems rather straightforward to me how we should proceed,” Brienne concludes. “You will do your little show, play your game, and once we have our way inside the brothel where she worked, you let me know and I will join you. I assume that you would even <em>want</em> to intimidate the owner who sent her there, no?”</p><p>“I already feared you were going to say that.” He scratches the back of his head, contemplating. Something mischievous cracks across his face all of a sudden, quickly overshadowed by a big smile meaning nothing yet everything at the same time.</p><p>“You know what? That sounds like a very good idea, Sister. I bet you are going to have the time of your life,” he answers, grinning. “I can very well be your tour guide through the purgatory only King’s Landing has to offer.”</p><p>Brienne holds his gaze for a long moment, then looks down at the girl on her table. She grabs the white sheet to cover her again.</p><p>“That suits me fine,” Brienne answers. “After all, I got the advice not long ago to expect the worst and double it.”</p><p>He grins, she does not.</p><p>Because this is no game to her. This is her purpose in life. She will find the person responsible for the girl’s death and that of the architect. Brienne will tell those unheard stories. Even if that means to walk right into the pits of purgatory.</p><hr/><p>“Just remember to stay in the car and keep quiet. Once I head inside, I will fetch you. You have my word on that, even though it means nothing to you,” Jaime orders, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he ponders his next step. Beside him sits the Silent Sister, all arms and legs too long for his car, clenching her jaw like a child that was told it wouldn’t get to come along on a family trip to the zoo.</p><p>“Alright,” she agrees, though her voice sounds hardly approving.</p><p>“Does that hurt your teeth?” he asks.</p><p>“Just a little,” the Silent Sister answers, not even gracing him with turning her head to poke at him with her big blue eyes holding so, so, so much resentment for him.</p><p>He chuckles softly. “I’ll be back in a bit, don’t you worry. If you need me, I will be right there to rescue you, Sister.”</p><p>“I do not believe that to be necessary.”</p><p>“Never say never.”</p><p>“I didn’t say never.”</p><p>He opens the car door. “But you implied it. Either way, just shout and I’ll be there. Don’t do anything stupid. Oh, and don’t you dare change my radio channel.”</p><p>She looks at him incredulously. “I had no intention to.”</p><p>Jaime taps his palm on the roof of the car as he leans back in. “Good to know that you can behave if you have to. No less would I expect from a law-abiding, virtuous Silent Sister like you.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at him. Jaime laughs as he slams the door shut. Even as he keeps walking down the empty road, he can feel her big blue eyes drilling holes into his back.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should have taken her along when I went after Aerys. No bullets needed.</em>
</p><p>Though he hopes that this experience will teach her. Jaime can’t imagine that the Silent Sister will be quite as confident in that terrain. Women like that are either scared of the idea of sex, never had it, or had some bad experiences in the past. Jaime reckons that this septa-not-a-septa may even crave it and that this makes her jump like a cat you grab from behind. <em>Though that is yet to be determined</em>. No matter what, Jaime hopes that bringing her along will solve some of his problems.</p><p>Some people just have to taste the bitter medicine of reality to understand that they are actually allergic to it.</p><p>That woman is best left with her corpses to keep her company, where everything is neat and in order, the scalpels polished and disinfected, where all she has to worry about is filing the reports perfectly and finding things to put into her next dissertation.</p><p>And Jaime? He reckons he is best left to burn in purgatory for as long as it will go. And after that, he will be so used to the heat that he won’t feel it even when he starts to burn in the Seven Hells all over again.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all…</em>
</p><p>Jaime sighs as he walks further down the lane, hearing voices rise in the distance. He stops at one of the windows to a closed shop to look at his own reflection.</p><p><em>Maybe messed-up on the inside, but not enough on the outside</em>, he determines.</p><p>Jaime ruffles through his hair and pulls on his shirt so that it falls loosely around his belt, making it look like it didn’t see the iron in a long time. The fact that he didn’t shave in a while is surely helping his cause right now as it makes him look like a bit of a mess. Once satisfied with the overall appearance, he enters Silk Street, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets as a cold wind blows through the alley.</p><p>He falls into an uneven step, playing the part of the guy who had to drink something to work up his confidence to come to a place like this. He scans the area while making it seem like he is nervously looking around so not to be caught. The women building the frame for the street in their sequined short skirts and leather pants barely pay attention to him. They continue to stroll, to wait, knowing that they have to do a job only few of them will actually enjoy and making it seem like they do find some kind of thrill when a pathetic guy sticks his half-stiff cock inside them and nearly comes undone by just looking at their stockings.</p><p>Jaime is looking for a particular kind of girl, one that is chatty. Those are always easy targets for questioning. If they are a bit tipsy, all the better. He finds a slightly older one in a red skirt with sequins all over, though some are missing. Her lipstick is too bright on her pale face and she definitely doesn’t know how to work the white over-knee boots she is wearing. But she is talking to the other girls, smiles a lot, emits the confidence of a girl who’s been around for a while already.</p><p><em>Perfect</em>, those tend to know what’s going on in their territory.</p><p>“Hey there, gorgeous,” she calls out, not at all meaning it. “Can’t remember the last time I saw something that pretty roam around here.”</p><p>“Oh, then you, uhm, then you haven’t looked in the mirror this morning,” Jaime laughs nervously, awkwardly stepping closer, almost tripping over his own two feet to sell the part.</p><p>She shakes her head, reaching into her pocket to fetch a cigarette. “Nice try, no discounts, hotshot.”</p><p>“I wasn’t trying to, honestly,” he insists.</p><p>“Well, then what do you want? Mouth? Back door? Doggy? Missionary? Just FYI, if you don’t put a condom on, you don’t get inside the temple,” she tells him, continuing to roam through her small purse to find a lighter.</p><p>Jaime reaches into his pocket to offer her a light, which she accepts with a small grin.</p><p>“Good to know,” he says, smiling with faux uncertainty. “But I was… I was actually looking for a girl I already saw here some time back.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, you should know that you shouldn’t piss off a girl by making her think she’s gonna get a job and then ask for another. And anyway, trust me, any girl will do. They have all been through <em>basic training</em>,” she says, plucking the cigarette into her red-lipped mouth. </p><p>“But I want… I need to see her again,” Jaime stammers. “She just won’t get off my mind. I mean… it’s just…”</p><p>She sighs, gray-blue smoke wafting around her face like a mask. “Sweetheart, don’t waste your time on that. We all make our money off of making you feel that special way. But that is not mutual, understand?”</p><p>“She is special to me. And I think I am special to her, too. She kept telling me –,” he tries to say, but she cuts him off, moaning, “– That you are the best she’s ever had and oh, how only you can make her come. How only you make her feel like a woman. Sweety, this is what we do. It’s our profession’s very special magic.”</p><p>“She’s different, though.” Jaime shakes his head, toying with the hem of his ruffled shirt.</p><p>The woman cocks an eyebrow at him. “Is she?”</p><p>“She is!” he nearly bursts out, but then coils back, looking scared. “It’s like… She said she wants out, you know. And I… I want to give her that. I want to take care of her.”</p><p>The prostitute looks him up and down again, seemingly considering to just walk away and leave him there, but then she has a change of heart, asking, “And you are sure she isn’t just trying to make you pay extra? Coz that’s what I’d do if I were her.”</p><p>“She <em>means</em> it. And I mean it, too. I just have to find her. I didn’t hear from her in a while. I am scared that something happened to her,” he says, balling his fists as he keeps holding on to the hem of his shirt.</p><p>“Like, that she found someone better?” the woman suggests.</p><p>“No, I don’t think her boss is very friendly.”</p><p>She snorts. “None of us have friendly bosses.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mutters.</p><p>“Not your fault, sweetheart. At least we have one,” the woman scoffs, sucking in as much smoke as she can before blowing it out and into the darkness of the night.</p><p>“I just… I need to know that she’s okay,” Jaime tells her quietly.</p><p>She sighs, scratching her eyebrow with her pinky, then puffs out smoke again. “… What does she look like?”</p><p>“She’s, like, so pretty. Long, red hair and pale skin and some of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Jaime lies.</p><p>
  <em>By far not the bluest… though the bluest I have seen are also some of the meanest.</em>
</p><p>“And a name?” she asks, sounding annoyed.</p><p>“She never gave me her real one. She said I’d only get it once she’s out of here.”</p><p>“Smart of her.”</p><p>“She <em>is</em> smart. And kind,” Jaime answers, bowing his head. “She didn’t treat me like a loser when most people in my life always have. I… I really care for her and I need to find her.”</p><p>“There are many pretty redheads out there who’d enjoy themselves making you feel like anything but a loser, sweety. I wouldn’t wait for that one to come back if I were you,” she warns him, now sounding almost motherly.</p><p>“But what if she is around here, waiting?” he asks.</p><p>“I really don’t think that she is, sweety.”</p><p>“But why?”</p><p>The prostitute looks around, left and right, then takes a step towards him, leaning in closer. “I have a notion I know which girl makes you stutter like an uptight businessman asking for his first blowjob. And I’m sorry to inform you, but she dropped out of business without you.”</p><p>He gapes at her. “You know her?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“So she no longer works here?”</p><p>“If it’s the girl I think you are having the hots for, then she long since no longer works alongside us. Smart thing made her beauty count while she still could,” she huffs. “We have a kind of expiration date. Once you get too ripe, you only get the sickos and the old ones who wouldn’t last a minute without the blue wonder pills to pop your… raisin.”</p><p>“I really want to find her,” Jaime insists. “I, uhm, I want to date her, make her my girlfriend, move in together, marry. Whole ride. I just have to find her first.”</p><p>“<em>Marry her</em>. Oh my, you almost make me like you and your naiveté. It’s kinda cute,” she huffs, easing back on her heels.</p><p>“Do you know the boss?”</p><p>“Maybe I do.”</p><p>“Would you tell me?”</p><p>“Maybe I would.”</p><p>Jaime sighs. “… How much?”</p><p>She grins. “Now we start to talk.”</p><hr/><p>“Hey! Leave her alone!”</p><p>Brienne whips her head around to see a car parked further down the side alley. She can see a brunette girl hammering against the side of the red, dusty car. Her feeble attempts don’t do much damage, though. The detective told her that business goes on on the main street, which has her wondering why the girl moved out here. Then again, Brienne just had a girl on her table who went all the way to a warehouse for business. They don’t get much of a choice on where and when and how it happens.</p><p>
  <em>That it happens often isn’t their choice either.</em>
</p><p>The brunette kicks against the car door, screaming shrilly, though no one seems to listen, or rather <em>care</em>. From the inside, a fat paw bangs against the car, making her jump back in fright. While Brienne can’t make out the words exchanged, she can assume that there is a man inside and that his words are not too kindly. The car starts to move and almost wheeze as it tilts to one side.</p><p>That tells Brienne two things: The man just tried to move across to the other side. And he is no lightweight. She taps her fingers on her lap, though they already start to curl into balled fists. Brienne can’t help but think back to the girl on her table, disposed of like a piece of trash. Because that is what those girls are to men like the one in the car right now.</p><p>She tries to suck in a few calming breaths, reminding herself not just of the detective’s orders but her own mantra. <em>Don’t let your feelings control your actions. Let your actions be guided by rational thought and your faith</em>. Brienne did that a number of times, let heart win over head, and it landed her in places she never wanted to see in her entire life. And yet, she saw, she walked down those paths and found herself at a dead-end until she found a new mission to hold on to, a new purpose.</p><p>Brienne closes her eyes, trying to think. The detective is preoccupied with his investigation. Calling police would take too long. Until they get here, the man is either done or drove off. There are many possibilities as to what will come next, but there is one thing Brienne can tell with absolute surety: Any action she undertakes will determine the outcome for this event. The fate of those girls lie in her hands now. That is fact.</p><p>So what does her faith demand?</p><p>“Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!”</p><p>Brienne snap her eyes open. <em>Justice, the Gods demand justice. To protect the innocent.</em></p><p>She bolts out of the car and quickly maneuvers over to the back. In the trunk Brienne finds what she was hoping for – a toolbox with spares. She takes out what she needs, closes the trunk with a thud and starts to approach the car, clenching and unclenching her fists as she goes.</p><p>“What is the matter here?” she demands to know, taking a firm stance. The brunette turns to her wide-eyed. She looks exactly like the detective described it – <em>intimidated</em>. Brienne can feel her blunt fingernails pressing into her palm. She saw that expression before, for another matter, far less serious than this one, though people made it out to be much more than it ever should have been.</p><p>But those times lie behind her now. Nothing shall ever prevent her from taking action, from protecting those in need.</p><p>“What is the matter here?” she asks again, milder this time. The girl studies her a moment longer, then snaps out of it at last.</p><p>“This asshole locked the doors and I can’t get in. He said he wanted a threesome with my friend and me, couldn’t pay up, and now he has my friend in there and won’t let her out!” she yells, kicking against the side of the car for emphasis. “Fuckin’ asshole!”</p><p>“Step aside,” Brienne orders.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Step. Aside.”</p><p>The girl does so, not knowing what to make of all this. Brienne sighs as she leans down, knocking against the glass window. She can’t help but smirk as the bald man nearly jumps from the seat when he sees her lean down and tap against the glass, but the smile quickly fades when she sees his hand deftly on the other girl’s hemline, sure to leave bruises, trying to pull her skirt down as well as her underwear. Or the tears in her eyes. The fear. The terror. The helplessness.</p><p>“Fuck! Get lost, bitch! Fuckin’ shit!” he shouts at the top of his voice, fumbling with his trousers.</p><p>The brunette is instantly up for a fight, though no less frightened as she bolts back forward again. “Let her go, asshole! You don’t have enough money to afford either one of us, so piss off and jerk off elsewhere!”</p><p>“Half the price for a threesome is what I paid, so I get to fuck her. Ya can watch if ya want!” he shouts back. “I can give it to ya, too, for free, bitch!”</p><p>“That’s not the deal!”</p><p>“Sir, I will only ask you once to get out of the car and leave the two alone,” Brienne announces resolutely though calmly.</p><p>“And you cunt think the Seven have given ya the right to tell me what whore I get to stick my cock into? Lemme tell ya, that ain’t so. What I paid’s already too much for a whore like that,” he says, looking back at the girl trying her best to slip away from him, though he keeps her from it with one deft hand on her thigh.</p><p>“I ask you as you otherwise leave me no choice but to call police. Because they have the authority to end this as you did not pay up and are threatening a woman, which her friend and I can testify to,” Brienne says, slightly relieved at the fact that her presence seems to trouble him enough to momentarily forget about the girl he has cornered in the car.</p><p>“Just because your lot can’t fit a cock in those dusty, uptight cunts doesn’t mean ya get to tell me what to do. Piss off, unless ya want me to bend ya over and fuck ya back open so ya know what it’s like to be owned like the fuckin’ bitch ya are!”</p><p>“I asked you to get out of the car, now I demand that you do,” Brienne replies sternly.</p><p>He starts to laugh almost giddily. “Ya <em>demand</em> it? Whatcha gonna do if I ain’t? Pray extra hard? Talk to your septon-boss about it? Hm? It’s none of your business, get lost and get fucked!”</p><p>“Alright, I suggest to both of you to duck,” Brienne calls out, louder this time.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Brienne takes two steps back, fumbling the piece of ceramic from the spark plug she took in her right hand before throwing it with as much force as she can muster. As predicted, the glass window shatters easily – <em>the wonders of science</em> – leaving the man totally poleaxed as he stares at the now shattered window and the shards of glass gathered in his lap. Brienne is quick to walk over to the car and unlock the doors.</p><p>“Girl, out, now!” she orders before the man can even begin to gather himself. The girl in the car leaps from the car and rushes over to her friend, crying and shaking but at the very least alive and no longer backed into a corner she cannot escape from. The brunette readily takes her into her arms, showing the finger to the man with her free hand.</p><p>The man catches himself at last, seeing that his entertainment for the night has abruptly been ended by a septa with a piece of ceramics. Any irritation grows to sheer fury, short before over-boiling. His red face contorts to an angry snarl, making him look less like a man and more like an animal about to strike.</p><p>That man surely knows how to intimidate girls like the two standing behind Brienne right now, smaller and weaker than him. To give himself the power he likely does not find in life otherwise.</p><p>
  <em>Let’s see how he compares when he has to fight an intimidating woman he can’t just push around.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck ya stupid bitch! You just destroyed my fuckin’ car. And I’m fuckin’ bleeding because of you stupid cunt! Fuck!” he yells, brushing small glass shards out of his face.</p><p>“I suggest you just drive away, Sir,” Brienne replies, unfazed.</p><p>“I suggest ya prepare yourself to bleed not just from the face. Coz when I’m done with ya, ya will bleed from every hole ya have till ya pray for me for mercy,” the man shrieks, bolting out of the car. “I’ll teach ya your place, stupid cunt. And ya can pray all you want, the Gods won’t come help ya when I bend you over and fuck ya raw, ya stupid cunt.”</p><p>Brienne gestures at the girls to stay where they are. The man is unarmed as far as she can see and clearly intoxicated, so this should be manageable. And judging by his language and way of acting, he is not the brightest light either, which will surely play to her advantage, so long she remains focused.</p><p>And anyway, she is not scared of such a man. She won’t ever be. Her father taught her better than that.</p><p>The man tries to tackle her, looking more like a bull than a man, nostrils flaring, eyes reddened from the alcohol and the raging fury. Once he is close enough, Brienne quickly ducks to the side. The man, not having seen that coming, loses his footing and staggers across the street. Eventually, he falls face-first to the ground with a loud thud and an even louder cry of anger. Brienne ignores the cheers coming from the brunette, well aware that this situation is still not handled.</p><p>The drunken man scrambles back to his feet, growling, face even redder than before, now that a few bloody scratches were added during the rough landing. From a distance, it almost looks like the blood just comes out of him from the pressure of his fury.</p><p>For a moment, Brienne can’t help but go back to the man who wanted to teach her her place, too. And how she taught him his in turn.</p><p>
  <em>And the good it’s done me.</em>
</p><p>“Prepare to die, bitch!” the man yells, every muscle in his body so tensed that he can barely move.</p><p>Brienne contemplates her options, the next best route to take. If he had a gun or a knife, he would have pulled it already. That means her approach should suffice, so long she does not allow for the situation to escalate further.</p><p>The man comes at her again. Brienne is mildly surprised when he manages to grab her arm, and that none too gently. Brienne does not even want to think what a man with such natural physical strength would have done to the poor girl.</p><p><em>Something different from the girl we found, but surely no less horrid</em>, she thinks to herself as his thumb sinks deeper into her skin, sure to leave a bruise this time. For a moment, she sees the nameless girl before her, pale and beautiful, with a story not yet told, a story she yet has to tell, but a story she does not want those two girls to share in.</p><p>The brunette shrieks “watch out!”, but Brienne does not need telling as she lets her body take over. After a twist of the wrist and a turn around him, the man is forced to let go of her. She twists his arm a bit further still, forcing him to fall onto his knees. Brienne lets out a shaky breath, remembering all too well that alley she was in years ago, and how she forced her way out.</p><p>She can feel her blood singing, though Brienne long since forbade herself to feel that way. She balls her fists, digs her fingernails into her palm, in an effort to calm herself. Self-defense is one thing, unnecessary violence another. And she must be careful not to trespass those borders. Whether she is at the convent or here in the “purgatory”, it makes no difference. Brienne took an oath and another one still – and it demands of her to remain composed, analytical, quiet.</p><p>“FUUUUUCK!” the man rages.</p><p>Brienne lets go of his arm. The drunkard bangs his fist on the ground before getting back to his feet, barely able to hold himself now. Brienne clenches her jaw. She can feel so much anger inside her, ever since she ran into the detective, ever since she saw that poor girl whose story was perverted to the sick obsessions of another person. And it wants out. It wants out!</p><p>
  <em>But I can’t. I mustn’t. I promised…</em>
</p><p>Just as the red-faced man is about to lunge at her one more time, Brienne can hear a thud. She blinks as the man is yanked over to the side and pulled to the ground. Only then does she understand that the man who just wrestled him to the ground is the detective. The detective motions up slowly, leaving his boot right on the man’s windpipe, making him wheeze as the muzzle of a gun is pressed into his face.</p><p>Brienne swallows thickly, recognizing the feral grin on the detective’s lips, wondering whether she wore that same face when she overpowered the drunkard.</p><p>
  <em>If so, it is small wonder that they called me a beast.</em>
</p><p>“Now, what do you think you are doing here, fuckface?” the detective snarls, pushing the gun deeper into the other man’s skin.</p><p>“That bitch’s broken into my car!” the man wheezes, pointing a shaky finger roughly in Brienne’s direction. She is still rather surprised to see the detective there. She did not expect him to even pay attention anymore, after he began his little “game”. And she is not yet sure how glad she is supposed to be to see him.</p><p>She can feel his eyes on her. The detective’s expression is so nebulous that Brienne can’t make out whether he is pleased or beyond anger. And all the more confusing for her is that she finds herself at greater discomfort for his reaction than for the drunkard’s violence directed against her.</p><p>“Well, <em>that</em> is unfortunate. But that doesn’t mean a guy can just forget all his manners, hm? Or where do you have them? Left them at home? Right next to your balls?” the detective chimes, pressing down a little harder.</p><p>“Fuck ya!”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t swing that way, sorry. You are definitely not my type,” the detective laughs. “Now, here’s the thing you’ve got to understand: This lady over here is with me.”</p><p>“Then beat some sense into that cunt!”</p><p>The detective gives the man another jolt with his boot, making him squeal. “Is that how you talk to a Silent Sister? I don’t think so. Even less so when she is with me. Because I am the fuckin’ police.”</p><p>“What? Fuck!”</p><p>“<em>Language</em>,” he says, bending down to loom over the man’s face. “Now. She is with me, and so it won’t be any kind of weird for me to explain how this was <em>my</em> idea. And that means you will not get compensation for your shit car’s window being broken or your face being any uglier than it already is. What you will get from that is at least three people attesting to how you started this shit, whatever it was. And who do you think police is gonna believe? You or the Silent Sister, hm?”</p><p>“Fuck y’all!”</p><p>“<em>Kinky</em>. Now, here’s the deal: I will remove my gun now. You are gonna get up and get your sorry, fat ass out of here. And I don’t want to see you anywhere near Silk Street for a while. The rules are so easy even you should be able to follow,” the detective continues, tapping the man’s cheek with his gun.</p><p>“How are ya gonna know, asshole?” the man taunts.</p><p>“I have my ways, because I have some friends who are my eyes and ears around this city. And you really don’t want to find out what I am going to do to you if I find out that you carried your sorry ass back here.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>. And then I will get you into prison. And I can guarantee you this one thing, you will be everyone’s bitch there,” the detective snarls, though his lips are curled into a grin.</p><p>The man makes no indication to move further, so the detective draws back. “But before you go, I have one more souvenir.”</p><p>“Sou–”</p><p>The man screams at the top of his lungs as the detective kicks him straight between the legs. The scream is so loud that some doves fly away into the night, startled by the sound.</p><p>“Just to be sure your balls cooled off some before you dare lurk around here again,” the detective tells him, running his fingers through his hair to ease the loose strands out of his face.</p><p>The man rolls a few more times on the ground, clutching his groin, but nearly jumps when the detective as much as taps him with his boot. He scrambles to his feet, nearly topples over, then saves himself into his car. He kills the engine two times before he drives away, starting to curse only once he is at a safe distance.</p><p>The detective turns back to the three woman standing there.</p><p>“Do you need to see a doctor?” he asks matter-of-factly, rightfully picking out the girl who was in the car even though he didn’t see her get out.</p><p>“No,” she answers, shaking her head violently as she points at Brienne. “She made him get out before he…”</p><p>“Good. How much did he owe you?” the detective wants to know. The girl frowns at him. “What?”</p><p>“How much did he owe you?” he repeats.</p><p>“400. He only paid one half…”</p><p>The detective nods his head slowly, then reaches into his pocket to take out four 200 stag bills he hands to the crying girl.</p><p>“So the boss doesn’t ask questions, plus some extra because I… scared your customer away, which is no good way to run a business, I know.”</p><p>“But you needn’t –,” the girl stammers, still holding the bills out to him to take them back. The detective just holds up his hands. “It’s fine. Now, can we agree that this stays between us four? I don’t want rumors to spread about the ninja nun and the officer beating up the customers on Silk Street. We are here on other business and that’s the kind of noise we don’t want, understand?”</p><p>“We’ll just say he didn’t pay up and got shitty and we got out,” the brunette says, understanding his indication.</p><p>He smirks at her, pleased. “Sounds good to me. What’s the name?”</p><p>“Pia. And this is Amy.”</p><p>“Alright, Pia and Amy. I think you two should go have a coffee or a drink at some bar and only come back once it’s time to give the share to your boss. I suppose the money you got should be more than your daily earnings.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Pia answers, flashing a small smile. Only then does Brienne see that she seemingly had some of her front teeth punched out.</p><p>
  <em>This really seems to be purgatory.</em>
</p><p>“It’s nothing,” the detective assures them. “Just an advice from the officer here: navigate customers who don’t want to come inside to the side alleys over there. Better lit and people can hear you more easily. That way… you have at least some kind of chance.”</p><p>“Thank you. To the both of you,” Pia says, turning to the detective, then to Brienne, offering a small smile.</p><p>“Now be on your way. The Sister and I still have some business to handle, yeah?”</p><p>“Thanks again, we owe you one,” Pia replies, before taking Amy by the hand and leading her away from the street and into the darkness of the alleys leading away from the red lights shining down on Silk Street, the echoes of their stilettos following them.</p><p>The detective waits until they are out of earshot before turning around on the back of the heel to walk up to her, leaving only a few inches between them.</p><p>“And now to you,” he grunts, his eyes narrow slits.</p><p>Brienne frowns at him, making sure to keep a firm stance.</p><p>“That was extremely dangerous and careless, Sister,” he tells her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”</p><p>She shakes her head. <em>Is he sincere? </em></p><p>“Was I supposed to just do nothing?” Brienne asks. She understands that as a detective, he does not want civilians running around, going up against criminals. But even he should see that it was absolutely logical to do something. It was the only course of action she could have taken to protect those girls.</p><p>“<em>No</em>, but you could’ve just called on the guy with the badge and the gun. You knew he was just around the corner, <em>literally</em>,” he retorts.</p><p>“You were interviewing and you told me not to interfere with your <em>game</em>.”</p><p>“Suddenly you take my orders to heart?” the detective scoffs.</p><p>“I take the orders to heart that are reasonable,” Brienne shoots back.</p><p>“Ah, and of course <em>you</em> get to decide on that!” the detective snorts.</p><p>Brienne clenches her jaw. “… I just had to help the two. He may have driven off with her.”</p><p>“He may have, but he also could have had a gun in his belt and could have told you to get in the car as well,” he snaps.</p><p>“I saw none.”</p><p>The detective moves in even closer, so that she can feel his hot breath against her skin. “Could you see the inside of the car? Were you sure there was none in the glovebox?”</p><p>“I…”</p><p>He shakes his head. “That’s what I thought. I bet you did some self-defense class back in school, but let me tell you, Sister: There is a difference between that and taking on a potentially dangerous man who may have weapons on him.”</p><p>“I was aware,” Brienne insists. She is not a fool.</p><p>
  <em>And had he taken out a gun, I would have…</em>
</p><p>“And yet, as <em>aware</em> as you were, you wanted to act like the bloody shining knight in armor. I told you, this is not what we do here. Nothing you do will save those girls. Because this was certainly not the first time they’ve been in such a situation and it wasn’t their last. You saw the girl’s teeth, too, didn’t you?” He moves closer, still, waiting for her to flinch away, but she does not. “Saving them won’t save <em>her</em>. The girl is dead. And those girls may very well be because a customer thinks he’s been cheated. Or just because he feels like it. Because that is just how this world is – and no amount of praying or playing the Warrior himself will change that, Sister. Sorry that I have to break it to you, but that’s just how it is.”</p><p>“Just because I can’t save the entire world with such an act doesn’t mean I should just stand by and do nothing, does it?” Brienne argues, not letting that waver her.</p><p>
  <em>If you only start to act when you know you can save everyone, then no one will be saved. The Warrior is brave for fighting, even when the odds are against him. </em>
</p><p>“Do you think the guy’s gonna stay away forever? What tells you he won’t come back and get both of them locked in a car to have his way with them next time? And he may bring some friends, too. And they probably won’t be any friendlier to them, especially if they come in a pack,” the detective huffs.</p><p>“So what do you suggest? I just sit by and watch a man rape a girl?” She narrows her eyes at him.</p><p>Apathy and indifference, those things get to her even more than anger. Not to care for innocent lives being taken, not to care for people in danger, just standing by and doing nothing because it’s a “lost cause”. It’s only a lost cause if you give up without having given your best. It is only over once everyone stops trying.</p><p>
  <em>And so long I don’t give up, this story is not finished…</em>
</p><p>“I suggest you call me.”</p><p>She cocks an eyebrow at him. “And that will prevent him?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, but it will keep <em>you</em> safe. Because that’s the one thing I can guarantee. For those girls? All I can do is ask for more patrols down here and maybe check in to see if they are still around in a few weeks,” he answers. “Because yeah, I have those friends around here. But that is all. That is the reality we have to live with in our line of work, Sister. That is the truth you only find in purgatory.”</p><p>“I can keep myself safe on my own, thank you very much,” she huffs.</p><p>He leans his head back, laughing at the dark sky above their heads. “I saw.”</p><p>“I didn’t need you to hold him at gunpoint. And trust me, I also know how to kick a man between the legs.”</p><p>He laughs – <em>at</em> her. “<em>Kinky</em>. And you are overestimating yourself, Sister. I get it. You feel like superman, sorry, super<em>woman</em>, now, finally let out of the halls of the Silent Sisters, getting a first taste at an active case. But don’t let that get to your veiled head. It makes you act irrationally. It makes you act rashly. And that may end up with you being dead. And I really don’t want to have any more paperwork to deal with.”</p><p>“It’d be a great shame to cause you such inconvenience,” she hisses. Brienne didn’t act unreasonably. She acted fast. There is a difference.</p><p>
  <em>And he won’t even begin to see it, because he clearly got too comfortable in the darkness.</em>
</p><p>“You bet. And I am already known as the Kingslayer, I don’t want to add being responsible for a Silent Sister’s death to that title. It’s shitty as it is. And anyway, a thank you from you would have been more than enough.”</p><p>Brienne looks at him for a long moment, then says, “Thank you – for finishing what I began.”</p><p>He laughs again, taking a few steps back, one hand on his hip. The detective shakes his head. “I still wonder how you broke the guy’s window. I mean, with your thick skull, I bet it’s possible, but you have no bruises on either head or hands.”</p><p>Brienne holds out the spark plug to him that she took from his trunk before proceeding with her plans, <em>because yes</em>, she had one, <em>because no</em>, she didn’t just act out of instinct.</p><p>The detective frowns at the object in her palm, then back at her. “What now?”</p><p>“You can find ceramics inside spark plugs. A shard of ceramics can make a window made of tempered glass crack quite easily,” she explains. “It’s all just physics, really.”</p><p>“That is <em>almost</em> impressive. Though I expect you to replace that one, as I am pretty sure you took that out of my car without asking,” he huffs.</p><p>“Of course I will.”</p><p>He shakes his head, glancing up to the dark sky again. “You are the most unconventional Silent Sister I ever met.”</p><p>“You didn’t meet many throughout your life, as far as I understood,” Brienne argues.</p><p>“Which makes you the lucky number one on that short list.”</p><p>Brienne sighs heavily, shaking the tension out of her limbs. “Either way… did you have any luck with your interview?”</p><p>He looks back at her, grinning. “Apparently. I have a name and the boss. The girl I talked to was none too pleased that our girl moved up the ranks and, to her mind, left them behind to rot in the gutter.”</p><p>“Who is she?” Brienne asks, finding her heart beat faster.</p><p>That is more than she dared to hope for. A name at least. If there is a name, there are more means to uncover her story and tell it.</p><p>“Her name <em>was</em> Ros. At least that is the name she went by,” the detective answers. He reaches into his pocket to take out a cigarette.</p><p>“And who is the boss?” Brienne asks.</p><p>“A familiar face. Petyr Baelish. A total con job I’d really like to throw out of the city,” he recounts, lighting the cigarette to plop it into his mouth. “He is social climber who definitely thinks he is much more than your regular brothel owner. The guy actually only runs the brothel for the sake of the business he runs under the pseudonym Littlefinger.”</p><p>Brienne’s lips curl into a frown. “And what is his <em>actual</em> business?”</p><p>“He is a big gun in advising businessmen and shareholders when it comes to stock market, politics, whatever involves power. But he builds on the discretion of his customers as they are also regulars at his brothel. What those guys don’t understand is that he plays them like a fiddle as the girls fiddle their limp dicks.”</p><p>He chuckles softly as he inhales the blue smoke deeply, blowing it into the dark sky.</p><p>“The girls are well-instructed to ask some questions he can extrapolate from. He knows when a big gun in the industry has debt, when business is not going well, when there is new business opportunities, et cetera,” he goes on to explain. “He’s also friends with some and acts like the helpful brothel owner they can really talk to about their boring wives and their boring lives. What they don’t know is that he is the same guy they call up for advice on what company to invest in or what shares to buy or sell. If I didn’t hate the guy as much as I do, I really love how he pulls down their pants. As those guys are not innocent either. Not by any means.”</p><p>“And they don’t make the connection?”</p><p>“He’s clever enough to make it seem random, so those guys don’t normally get a hunch. And if they do… well, he has them by the balls. All he has to do is to let the news know just what dirty kink gets them off. And those guys know that he won’t hesitate to reveal that knowledge. But he’s the guy to satisfy those… extra wishes. That’s what he built his business on.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “Which is disgusting enough.”</p><p>“As I said, I wished he disappeared from the face of the earth. But what he does with the business owners is not illegal, and what is is something we can’t prove. The police once got close to him when a guy thought he could charge him for revealing business intel and his <em>personal preferences</em>. He withdrew three days into the investigation after they had Bealish in for questioning. You bet the guy got a phone call about how his business would be dwindling, if it hadn’t already then,” the detective explains, grinning. He takes another inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke roll over his tongue.</p><p>“So Ros was probably sent off to some… <em>special</em> customer,” Brienne concludes, to which the detective nods his head. “It doesn’t seem farfetched.”</p><p>“What is the plan?” she wants to know.</p><p>“I got the info that he is in the house tonight, so I will go in and ask him some questions.”</p><p>She clenches her jaw. “Do I have to stay in the car?”</p><p>“No, actually not. I don’t want you to roughen up any more customers. I don’t have that much cash on me. But only under the condition that you don’t try to do with him what you tried to do with this gigantic asshole just now. Baelish is not our target. So we have to focus our efforts on what is our target. And that is the guy who took Ros’s life,” he replies, perfectly sincere this time.</p><p>Brienne nods her head. “I understand.”</p><p>“<em>Good</em>. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine,” he assures her. The detective tosses the cigarette on the ground, the red flame dancing over the pavement before dying in a nearby puddle. He then proceeds back to the main street. Brienne sighs, but then starts to follow him. She asked for it, so she has to bear the consequences of her actions. She asked to be assigned to this case and she has a purpose now.</p><p>And apparently, that is also his purpose, so she will have to deal with his methods for the moment.</p><p>Brienne hunches her shoulders as she enters the main street. The neon lights paint everything red. At a distance, she can hear women moan and shriek, some more naturally, others perfectly over the top. To the side, she can see the woman roaming the streets in their high heels and short skirts, waiting for customers, coaxing them closer. When they catch sight of her, though, their demeanor perfectly changes. Some draw back, others just stare at her. Brienne resists the urge to clutch her pendant and instead balls her fists again.</p><p>“Having a good time, ladies?” Jaime calls out. The snigger at him, leaving Brienne to wonder whether he is a regular around here. The thought quickly fades from her mind as he maneuvers to one of the buildings.</p><p>“That’s the place to be tonight, Sister. Last chance to chicken out.”</p><p>Brienne says nothing, just waits for him to proceed. She surely won’t give that man the satisfaction of her discomfort.</p><p>The detective shrugs his shoulders before pulling the beaded curtain aside to walk in. She follows him into the brothel, after all, she agreed to enter purgatory.</p><hr/><p>Past the beaded curtain, music hums, the lyrics already very explicit. Red velvet and gold all over, be it the bar stools or the booths where men and women are sitting and chatting and laughing with men with loosened tie and beer in hand.</p><p>The Silent Sister nearly walks into Jaime when he stops abruptly, as a woman with curly hair and clothing leaving little to the imagination greets them both, “Good evening, sir, ma’am, what can we do for you tonight? A private room for the both of you? We have both male and female entertainers free for you to choose from.”</p><p>She peeks over the detective’s shoulder to look at Brienne. “Dancers and religious roleplay are all part of our repertoire.”</p><p>He sniggers, feeling the heat rise to the septa’s cheeks even with his back turned to her. “Maybe later, but for now I’d just like to speak to the manager.”</p><p>“I don’t think he is in –,” she means to argue, but he cuts her off before she can spin a lie, “I know as a matter of fact that he is. Just fetch him for me, thank you. We will be waiting by the bar. Tell Mr. Baelish that if he can’t make the time right now, I can make an appointment over at the FBI, no bother.”</p><p>She swallows, then nods her head. “Of course, sir.”</p><p>“Thank you very much.”</p><p>With that, the woman rushes off – as expected. People like Baelish put the well-trained up for the speaking jobs. So this one will be one of his favorites.</p><p>
  <em>The dead girl was probably, too, before she started to act up and make up her own mind.</em>
</p><p>Jaime motions over to the bar, patting on the velvet chair next to him to signal the Silent Sister to take a seat as well. She sits down stiffly, carefully, as though she was afraid the thing might actually turn out to be a wicked sex toy of some kind.</p><p>But wouldn’t that be kind of hilarious?</p><p>Sadly, more often than not, a chair is just a chair. And so nothing happens when she sits down.</p><p>A good-looking blond man emerges from behind the bar, dressed in nothing much beside black leather shorts that black leather boots, a small chain dangling around his neck.</p><p>“Hello there, what can I get you two?” he asks, smiling brightly as he leans onto the dark wood of the bar, winking at Jaime first, then at the Silent Sister, visibly amused at the sight.</p><p>“Two shots of Myrish fire, no ice,” Jaime answers. “Sister?”</p><p>“Water, please.”</p><p>“Gee, you are in for a party, aren’t you?” Jaime huffs, though he should have expected that. Silent Sisters in general and this one in particular don’t strike him as party animals.</p><p>“Myrish fire and water are already on the way. You do like the opposites, don’t you?” the bartender asks, winking at her once more.</p><p>“Opposites attract,” Jaime chuckles, ignoring the side-eye the comment earns him.</p><p>“They definitely do,” the blond bartender sniggers. “Spices things up. Especially in the bedroom.”</p><p>“Sure,” Jaime snorts.</p><p>He remembers he once read about a study that found that the whole “opposites attract” is some kind of bogus. If you can’t agree on the big questions in life, your relationship is headed for disaster. Even the make-up sex can’t make up for that past a certain point, no matter how good it may be.</p><p>
  <em>But thankfully, that is nothing I have to worry about when it comes to the Sister and me.</em>
</p><p>“Will say, though, it’s the first time I see a Silent Sister in here,” the bartender says, pouring the drinks.</p><p>“It’s her first time in the city and I just want to show her around,” Jaime says, grinning.</p><p>“<em>Right</em>.”</p><p>“You are really better off not knowing,” Jaime tells him with just enough honesty to make the bartender look at him for a long moment before nodding his head in understanding.</p><p>“Then I didn’t ask,” the blond man chuckles softly. “I have enough trouble keeping the chicks in the basket as is… Here you go.”</p><p>He puts up the drinks in front of the two. Jaime has to try hard not to laugh. The guy made sure to put as much decoration in the plain water as is humanly possibly. The Silent Sister looks at the drink for a very long moment, before looking back at the bartender.</p><p>“Thank you very much for the extra care.”</p><p>The bartender winks at her again. “Can’t harm to have some sparkle in your life.”</p><p>“I like to keep things simple,” she replies.</p><p>
  <em>Which may be a bit of an understatement, no?</em>
</p><p>“Each her own, but too simple easily turns to too boring for me personally,” the bartender chimes. “But just one advice: I bet those long legs would look great in tighter pants. Even Silent Sisters these days don’t have to come in rags, right?”</p><p>“Silent Sisters do not want to draw attention to their bodies,” she tells him, bowing her head.</p><p>The bartender just smirks at that. “Well, some people say you draw more attention to what you hide than what you show in plain sight.”</p><p>“I’ll drink to that,” Jaime sniggers, lifting his glass to chink it against that of the Silent Sister before she can pull it away. “Cheers.”</p><p>“… <em>Cheers</em>.”</p><p>Both take a gulp. Jaime doesn’t miss the look on her face when he empties his glass in one go. But Jaime can’t find it in himself to care about her misgivings regarding his drinking habits. He knows how much he can and even has to take. It’s a dangerous dance, but he got used to the beat a long time ago.</p><p>
  <em>And she shouldn’t be on to judge. She was perfectly sober when she decided to deck a guy who may have shot her in the freckled face, dammit.</em>
</p><p>It was a close call, and Jaime can’t afford that. She may be one of the most annoying creatures crawling the earth he’s met in a long time, but he dragged her here to show her the reality of this city and the profession. That means he has to have an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed because she thinks that a few hours of self-defense training make you invincible.</p><p>
  <em>Nothing does. Humans are fragile like glass. And sometimes it doesn’t even take a spark plug to make them burst into a million pieces.</em>
</p><p>“Sir? Ma’am? Mr. Baelish is now ready to see you.”</p><p>Jaime whips his head around to see the girl who greeted them standing next to him. The detective nods his head before sliding off his chair slowly. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I will bring you to him. Just follow me.”</p><p>“Have fun, you two,” the bartender chuckles, waving at them theatrically.</p><p>Jaime already wants to reach into his pocket to pay for the drinks, but the Silent Sister beats him to it. She slams the cash with a good tip on the bar, in the same motion bolting from her seat to follow the girl.</p><p>The detective shakes his head as he catches up with her. He has a notion that if he doesn’t watch her very carefully tonight, his lesson for her will turn into a lesson for himself not to drag Silent Sisters with anger issues along, even less so when he’s headed to Silk Street.</p><p>Though hopefully, that will put enough of a bitter taste in her mouth to stay with her dead bodies that seem to be more alive to her than actually living people.</p><p>
  <em>And then I have my peace to rage a war upon the murderer.</em>
</p><p>“Let me do the talking, remember,” Jaime mutters under his breath as they are led through a maze of narrow corridors.</p><p>“Silent Sisters have part of their virtue in their name.”</p><p>“Good, remember that when you want to throw up in your mouth seeing the guy. And remember it when you want to punch his teeth out.”</p><p>“I understand,” she whispers.</p><p>If not for severity of the situation, he’d have to laugh at the Silent Sister visibly fighting for composure as they are led past occupied rooms. Girls are moaning at their clients to do them harder and how good it feels when they take them, only them of course, feigning ecstasy though they are really just bored, Jaime can tell. Customers are babbling and gasping and groaning, seriously believing that they are not the only ones enjoying the ride. The occasional sound of a whip and a grown man whining make up for an interesting change, though.</p><p>And judging by the way the Silent Sister keeps fidgeting with her folded hands, he is not the only one to notice the cacophony of a very one-sided entertainment.</p><p>
  <em>Haven’t had enough yet, Sister? You are lucky one can’t see your blush in the dark.</em>
</p><p>The girl leads them into a separate room. Inside, Petyr Baelish is sitting on a large couch, also made of red velvet and golden ornaments, a smug smile tugging at his thin lips. He tries to make it seem like he long since expected them and is not in the last bothered, when Jaime can see straight away that his visit does not just piss him off, but also makes him piss himself a little bit.</p><p>“Oh, good evening to you. I did not expect the FBI to finally pay me a visit. It’s been far too long,” Baelish says with faux joyfulness as he gets up. He looks at the Silent Sister heading in after Jaime with no small hint of surprise. “And the Faith, too. I can’t say I saw a Silent Sister here before. Septons <em>en masse</em>, surely, but not once a Silent Sister. It is a pleasure.”</p><p>He walks over to them, making it seem like they are invited guests.</p><p>“Ladies first,” he laughs, holding out his hand to the Silent Sister. She takes it and Jaime can tell that she presses down harder than she’d have to, but he can let that slide. He feels very much the same. Baelish tries not to show his discomfort, easily hiding it behind thin-lipped smiles as he pulls back to shake Jaime’s hand as well.</p><p>“I fear I didn’t catch your names yet. After all, you <em>did</em> show up uninvited,” Baelish says, smiling.</p><p>“Well, we didn’t really plan on it. It just happened to be the place from where it reeked most,” Jaime answers, smiling back at him.</p><p>“Oh, I abide by all rules that general hygiene demands. Only the best for my customers,” Baelish assures them.</p><p>“Yeah, I bet,” Jaime scoffs, then reaches into his pocket to show his badge. “… Jaime Lannister, this is Sister Brienne.”</p><p>“I am most pleased to meet you,” Baelish says, holding out his hand in grandeur gesture to guide her over to the couch. But the Sister keeps her hands neatly folded, leaving no room for that man to get anywhere close to her. Baelish is quick enough to catch it, so he starts to move ahead by himself, gesturing at them to follow. “Please, have a seat, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Olyvar is great at mixing cocktails, among other things.”</p><p>“We already had something, thank you very much. It was a delight,” Jaime answers. Baelish nods his head as he leans back on the couch, leaning his arms over the backrest to take up as much space as possible.</p><p>
  <em>Which is something people with very fragile egos tend to do…</em>
</p><p>“So? What can I do for you?” Baelish asks.</p><p>“Are you missing any employees as of late, Mr. Baelish?” Jaime asks.</p><p>He shrugs his shoulders at that. “I can’t complain about hiring new people. There is always interest – and necessity – for this business.”</p><p>“No, I mean if one of your regulars is missing,” Jaime corrects him.</p><p>“I don’t believe I do, no.”</p><p>“Can you remember a girl named Ros? I mean, I bet it’s hard for you to keep track on all your employees,” Jaime sighs.</p><p>“Oh, I do remember a lot. It is crucial to run a business. Knowledge is power, you must know. And knowledge is nourished by the ability to listen and the understanding that every detail can become relevant at some point later in life.”</p><p>“I bet you have that tattooed somewhere, to be sure not to forget it, but I am not really interested in that. I am interested in the girl,” Jaime huffs. “So? Any details you can recall with your oh so great mind?”</p><p>“I once employed a girl named Ros, but we since parted ways,” the brothel owner answers, with the kind on nonchalance that makes Jaime really want to punch him in the smug, thin-lipped face.</p><p>“How comes?” he asks instead.</p><p>“Trust is everything in our business. If the trust is broken, you have to part ways,” the other man answers, chewing on his bottom lip.</p><p>“You sound somewhat disappointed,” Jaime notes.</p><p>“It was a great shame. She was a very quick learner, very capable. She came here from the North only about a year ago and since mastered the arts of entertaining our guests. I had big plans for her future,” Bealish explains.</p><p>Jaime cocks an eyebrow at him. “Did you?”</p><p>“I had big <em>expectations</em> of her, should I rather say? And sadly, she ended up disappointing me,” the brothel owner tells him. Jaime doesn’t miss the hissing sound towards the end.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, so that’s what it is. Just how did she manage to hurt your frail ego? Told you the truth about how unsatisfying you truly are in bed? </em>
</p><p>“So did she work out there with the other girls or as a dancer… or what were her <em>fields of interest</em>?” Jaime asks.</p><p>“She used to work out there in the streets, but I understood that she was a very talented girl who would have been wasted out in the cold,” Baelish says, smiling smugly.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, and don’t you jerk off to that every damn night, standing in front of the mirror?</em>
</p><p>Jaime laughs drily at that. “Spoken like a true Samaritan.”</p><p>“I gave her a place here. I taught her the difference between being a prostitute and an entertainer. She learned to enchant my customers very quickly, to inspire trust and confidence. And she was talented enough to give that knowledge to new ones coming in. I had any hope to leave some of my affairs into her care, yes,” Baelish explains.</p><p>The detective folds his hands under his chin. “But then she disappointed your hopes.”</p><p>“Very much so,” the other man sighs, sounding earnest for once. “A lack of trust is the death of every good relationship.”</p><p>Jaime has to hold back a choked laughter upon hearing that. Such a guy talking about trust is like the atheist preaching about the Faith. Though this confirms Jaime’s suspicion. Ros and he definitely were more than just business partners. He actually trusted her at least a bit. And because he did and she “disappointed” that trust, he made her pay for the betrayal.</p><p>
  <em>In that sense, yeah, a lack of trust can surely be the death of a relationship. And a life.</em>
</p><p>“And how did she disappoint those hopes?” Jaime wants to know.</p><p>“I think that would be a bit too private. Suffice to say that I don’t fancy being taken advantage of. And I don’t appreciate it if people move behind my back,” Baelish answers. Jaime can hear him breathing heavier and how his muscles start to tense. That girl really got under his skin, there is no denying there.</p><p>“And when did you two part ways, after she disappointed you so greatly?” the detective asks calmly.</p><p>Baelish shrugs. “Some time ago.”</p><p>“Define ‘some time’, Mr. Baelish. It’s the details that matter, no?”</p><p>“About two weeks ago,” the brothel owner answers, rolling his shoulders.</p><p>“And that was the last time you saw her.”</p><p>“It was the last I heard of her. We didn’t talk that much the weeks before we had to part ways. Though I don’t quite understand how that is of concern now,” Baelish replies, frowning.</p><p>Jaime smiles at him. “And you needn’t understand, you just have to answer my questions.”</p><p>
  <em>Because you have no power here. Not when it comes to this.</em>
</p><p>“My, my, you almost make it sound like I have to call in my lawyer,” the other man sighs, barely concealing the threat underneath.</p><p>Jaime has to try hard not to laugh at just how pathetic that guy is, believing himself powerful because he has some business tycoons by the balls. It might be that Jaime can’t do what he would really like to do with the guy – and punch him straight in the elongated chin – but he is no business tycoon. Jaime doesn’t operate the way those bastards do. They speak another language, trade in another currency. And that means Jaime is also far from impressed with the threats that guy surely blows like smoke into the wrinkly faces of the people who are stupid enough to call him their consultant.</p><p>“You can, of course. And then I call in my brother who’s the kind of lawyer who kept me out of prison for shooting a guy in the back and made it sound like it was in self-defense,” Jaime answers, grinning as he leans his forearms on his thighs. “Your choice.”</p><p>He can see the wheels turning inside the man’s head. That type of guy always evaluates the odds and tries to jump on what seems like the best procedure, given his chances. At the very least, he is smart enough to understand that even his best lawyer won’t compare to Jaime’s.</p><p>
  <em>Because what my brother lacks in height, he added in cleverness. And I think you don’t quite compare, no matter how much you try to make yourself believe it as you give yourself a pep-talk every morning in the shower.</em>
</p><p>“… You were asking?” he smiles at him brightly.</p><p>
  <em>Atta boy.</em>
</p><p>“How exactly did you inform your former employee that you two would be parting ways?” Jaime questions, making sure to keep his voice leveled. From the corner of his eye, he watches the Silent Sister grinding her teeth. He can’t imagine that she appreciates the guy talking about the girl the way he sees her – as something disposable.</p><p>“I left her a voicemail before her last job. I missed her earlier the day as I had an important meeting with some of our purveyors from overseas. And since I was off to another meeting, I thought this was perhaps not the best way of going about it, but given the circumstance… acceptable.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s always nice to make the employee work on the last day till last, only then to let them know that they don’t have to come in the next day because they are fired,” Jaime huffs. He can already feel his teeth starting to ache from having to keep smiling. Those guys disgust him, though people like Baelish, in the end, are just a symptom of the corruption running through the whole damned city. Corrupt government officials, corrupt agencies working hand-in-hand to set a course together when they should work separately, men and women allowed to carry on with their illegal bullshit because of immunity or just because their business is befitting political purposes. That whole damned city, that whole damn country, that whole damn world is full of sin and darkness, and there is no way of purging it, which may be the only truth the virtuecrats ever screamed during their hours of power.</p><p>
  <em>And you can only free them with fire, Detective! The fire will save us all! </em>
</p><p>Jaime shakes himself. Now is definitely not the time to go back there.</p><p>“She got paid until that day, so she worked for me until then,” Baelish answers matter-of-factly. Because she was a good to him, no more, no less. A good you pay for, and once you no longer pay for it, you discard it.</p><p>
  <em>Like the piece of trash <strong>you</strong> actually are.</em>
</p><p>“And did she reply? Did she call back?” Jaime asks.</p><p>“No. It may well have been that the customer was already there. Some get a bit too excited and show up early, though we have a very strict schedule for our employees, which is why I wanted her to know before she went in that this would be the last customer she’d get through me.”</p><p>“Sex on the assembly line, always right on time,” Jaime chimes.</p><p>“My employees do more than just offer sex. We are an entertaining business, Detective. We cater to various wishes, from the arts of erotic dance from Essos to shows and –,” but Jaime cuts him off before he can finish, “You really don’t need to run down your favorite advertisement lines for me, even less so for her. I have no intention to become a regular, and I don’t suppose good Sister Brienne does either, do you?”</p><p>She just looks at them blankly. Jaime nods his head, smirking back at Baelish. “As I said.”</p><p>“Which is a pity. Our profession is horribly looked down upon, even though we contribute to the overall stability of the city,” the brothel owner argues.</p><p>“You are true saviors of the world,” Jaime sighs.</p><p>He will say, he is not against prostitution per se. It’s a service. What pisses Jaime off is the people like Baelish, making property of people, turning them into playthings, treating them like shit and doing with them as he pleases, and getting rid of them when they no longer add the value he had in mind.</p><p>“I wouldn’t go that far, but we offer means to satisfy needs that otherwise lead to… <em>transgressions</em> that our society does best without,” the brothel owner argues, which is surely a great get-go with people like him, but certainly not for people like Jaime.</p><p>
  <em>There are no people like me anyway.</em>
</p><p>“Which is to say that if a rich business guy can only get off when fucking a girl strapped to a chair upside-down and beating her senseless with a whip, while having her choke on her own vomit, it is better he does it here than with a girl who is… not a prostitute. One can really feel the amount of care you feel for your employees flitting through air,” Jaime huffs. He’s seen enough files and dead bodies to know that this stuff is going on around the city, in many cities in fact, and it will only stop if rich businessmen finally find other ways to get off.</p><p>That’s just how capitalism works. So long there is demand, there will be supply. And in the end, it’s old, sick bastards sitting in black boss chairs that decide on whether there is a demand. And poor girls like Ros have to keep up the supply, or else, yes, there will be a great many, greatly expensive <em>transgressions</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Just that those transgressions are not affordable as that would very much affect the almighty God of Economy.</em>
</p><p>“My employees are all here voluntarily, Detective,” the other man replies, willfully ignoring the rest of Jaime’s statement.  </p><p>The detective shakes his head. “Yeah, I guess I’d volunteer to some nasty shit as well if the alternative is… <em>dying</em>. Death is so final and thus such a great incentive.”</p><p>He knows how far people go just to stay alive. How they beg and scream. How they do whatever a murderer wants, just for the faint hope of survival.</p><p>
  <em>Not wanting to die is really the greatest motivator there is.</em>
</p><p>“You can ask my employees, Detective. They enjoy what they do – and enjoy many benefits they would not in other establishments or out in the streets. And you can check my records, I always pay on time – and have a clean tax record. If they no longer enjoy working for me, they are free to go. I wouldn’t keep anyone here who doesn’t want to be part of the family.”</p><p>The Silent Sister coughs lightly. Baelish smiles at her. “Need a drink after all, Sister Brienne?”</p><p>“No thanks,” she answers.</p><p>“Right, you do strike me as one big family where everyone fucks everyone. Just like the Targaryens did back in the day,” Jaime snorts. “<em>Anyway</em>. So you didn’t see her much before the last job. You didn’t speak to her the day she was fired and haven’t spoken to her since. Did I get that right?”</p><p>“Yes. I told her to call me back and even invited her to come in and discuss things another time, but she cut the ties and so… we went our separate ways, as I said.”</p><p>Jaime shakes his head. “Truly tragic.”</p><p>“It was very unfortunate, yes. I do hope she found something… <em>better</em> worth her efforts.”</p><p>“I fear she did not,” Jaime answers bluntly.</p><p>“How so? Did she get herself into trouble? Is that why you are here?” he asks, without asking, as he knows the answer. Of course he does.</p><p>
  <em>When you are the one to send someone to hell, you know they are burning there already.</em>
</p><p>“Not really. She got herself into <em>your</em> trouble.” Jaime reaches into his pocket to take out a picture they took of Ros’s body and slaps it on the table right in front of Baelish. “She never left that warehouse you sent her to last. She died on the job.”</p><p>Jaime watches very closely as the brothel owner leans forward to look at the picture lying on the table. This reaction will be crucial, going forward.</p><p>
  <em>Surprise is the best catalyst for the truth.</em>
</p><p>Baelish draws back, clutching at his collar unconsciously. “Oh the Seven be good. This is… this is terrible.”</p><p>“The Seven <em>are</em> good, but what happened to her was not,” the Silent Sister points out grimly, surely not at all pleased with the fact that the guy dares to take their names into his dirty mouth. And Jaime tends to agree with her on that matter. While he does not care which deities he may insult, the detective would really rather have that bastard shut up and keep his cocksure smiles to himself.</p><p>“Now, do you understand why I asked these questions?” Jaime adds, tilting his head to the side. “Mr. Baelish.”</p><p>The brothel owner coughs lightly, seemingly growing conscious of the fact that Jaime watches his every reaction. But that is the wonderful thing about humans: Even those who know how to constrain themselves, even those that are clever enough to understand that they give themselves away if they don’t watch it, will always fail eventually. Because the body wins. It betrays the best fake smile. It defeats the laid-backness barely concealing your discomfort, your anger, your fear.</p><p>“I understand your reasoning, surely,” Baelish says eventually, “but I can assure you that I had absolutely no idea that this… happened to her.”</p><p>
  <em>Half a lie, half a truth. Almost interesting. </em>
</p><p>“Death didn’t just <em>happen</em> to her,” Jaime corrects him.</p><p>“She was murdered, Mr. Baelish. Mutilated, suffocated, and hung up in the warehouse she was sent to,” the Silent Sister clarifies through gritted teeth. “By you.”</p><p>Jaime chews on the inside of his cheek. Maybe it was not the best idea to bring her along. While the Silent Sister seemingly knows how to hold herself back, Jaime is not sure whether her body hidden behind gray robes won’t betray them both.</p><p>
  <em>She seems to be acting much more rashly than you would expect from a damned Silent Sister always so eager to write reports and to get permissions.</em>
</p><p>“I had no idea,” the brothel owner insists, leaning back against the couch, making sure to keep his gaze away from the picture in front of him. Jaime leaves it there, if only to add that bit of discomfort the man is definitely lacking for the severity of the news they just delivered.</p><p>“<em>Right</em>. Now, the thing is that she didn’t just <em>happen</em> to have a customer. You gave the customer to her, kindly as you were. <em>You</em> made the arrangements, you said as much yourself. And it is very likely that your customer killed her. And even if your customer didn’t, he may be an important witness as he’d be the one to have seen her last alive,” Jaime interjects. “I have a vested interest to find the person responsible, and it would be very unwise of you to stand in the way of my investigation.”</p><p>“Detective, I hope you understand that discretion –,” Bealish tries to say, but Jaime won’t even let him make the attempt, “– I hope <em>you</em> understand that if you don’t reveal all information you have, you will find yourself at the department little time from now. That your establishment will be searched and turned upside-down. That we’ll check <em>all</em> your records. <em>All</em> your business books. <em>All</em> your phone numbers, contacts, business partners, people you just fuck over financially. Because this is not about you fucking some businessmen in their rear, this is about a murderer on the loose.”</p><p>“I… I don’t believe I…,” he mutters, visibly struggling for a clever way out of this.</p><p>
  <em>Because that is the issue with the brainy ones. They are only mighty for as long as they have something up their sleeves. But once surprise has them, they reveal themselves to be as useless as they actually are.</em>
</p><p>“That murderer may actually be after you, too, you know?” Jaime points out nonchalantly.</p><p>Baelish frowns at him. “Me?”</p><p>“Well, the guy made a display of Ros to show just what he thinks of… your business. And I dare say he doesn’t hold it in the highest regard. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were on his hit list as well,” Jaime answers coolly. “He doesn’t seem to like prostitutes, I don’t see how he’d like brothel owners any better.”</p><p>He leans back, smiling not at all innocently.</p><p>“So you should consider <em>most</em> carefully whether you are going to make this job harder for me than it really has to be, Mr. Baelish. Because the harder it gets the lesser my interest. And you <em>really</em> don’t want me to lose interest in a case that may well have your life on the line, as that may well mean that the Silent Sister over here will open you up from chin to naval to see just what stuff businessmen like you are really made of.”</p><p>
  <em>Same trick as always, but it works every damn time. Because in the end, people are as selfish as they can be. Every man for himself till the bloody end.</em>
</p><p>Baelish chews on the inside of his cheek, contemplating, trying to be clever, when really, the cleverest thing he could do would be to stop trying to be clever.</p><p>
  <em>Because this is no game, asshole.</em>
</p><p>“… In all honesty, you won’t find any records. We have some customers who value privacy above all else. We keep no records for those who do not wish to appear in our files,” Baelish answers. He leans forward, hunched, the discomfort scratching at his frail ego, short before breaking it.</p><p>
  <em>Who could have guessed?</em>
</p><p>“How convenient for them,” Jaime huffs.</p><p>Baelish shrugs. “We do our best to please our customers in every way possible.”</p><p>“I bet that is the number one concern for you. Especially since you need particularly those customers to come in regularly for your <em>side business</em>.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know what you are trying to imply with that, Detective,” the brothel owner argues, straightening his collar and jacket, smiling the little smile Jaime just wants to punch out of him oh so desperately.</p><p>
  <em>And woe betide us if my body betrays me on that one. Because that will be a whole lot of paperwork.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, I think you know damn well what I am not just <em>implying</em> – but what I am <em>warning</em> you about, Mr. Baelish. The question is whether you just pretend to be smart or are dumb enough in your confidence to think that you can outsmart a murderer.”</p><p>The wheels are turning, faster and faster and faster, until his eyes settle back on Jaime, seemingly having made up his mind. “I can only repeat what I just said: I don’t have any information that would help you in the course of your investigation. Ros’s last customer was no regular of ours and he requested that no records would be kept. I can show you the phone records, but I don’t think that this will be very revealing to you.”</p><p>Jaime smiles at him not at all brightly. “We’d much appreciate it if you forwarded them to us nonetheless. If only for our own <em>entertainment</em>.”</p><p>“I surely will,” Baelish assures him, faking a smile. “I am always glad to help law enforcement to do their job. I mean, some of them <em>are</em> my regulars.”</p><p>“Did the customer ask for special treatment?” Jaime wants to know, unimpressed. “Now regular or not?”</p><p>“Yes, he wanted to meet at another location,” Baelish confirms. “The one where you found her.”</p><p>“And that is all you know?”</p><p>“Ros knew how to handle customers. Since no… <em>equipment</em> was requested, I would have expected none out of the ordinary, really.”</p><p>Which may even be a truth, Jaime reckons. Because that is surely not the first time that guy got rid of an employee who turned out to be a burden.</p><p>
  <em>Or dared to betray him, for what it seems.</em>
</p><p>“Safe for the location being a warehouse far away, where people don’t hear you scream as you fight for your life,” Jaime huffs.</p><p>“People have odd fantasies, Detective. It is not up to me to judge them for it. I bet you have certain kinks as well that you’d rather not let the world know about. And that is good and fair,” Baelish tells him, before turning his attention to the Silent Sister, flashing a faux smile. “I would even go as far as to say that our pious Silent Sister over there has some sexual fantasies of her own, deep down, <em>very</em> deep down.”</p><p>He looks directly at her, seemingly trying to intimidate her. To the Sister’s credit, she won’t give him the satisfaction, Jaime can tell. That woman can stare even a weary detective like him into the ground. And Petyr Baelish, by no means, can even begin to compare to that.</p><p>
  <em>The worst he’s seen is his own reflection in the mirror. Once you’ve seen a man cooking alive, we can start to talk.</em>
</p><p>“People have odd tastes. And some have a curious appetite that only few things can satisfy. Wearing diapers, using toys, being dominated, beaten, to beat, to dominate. Others want much more conventional things but fear that it will reveal weakness.”</p><p>The brothel owner edges forward in his seat, not once letting his eyes lead away from the Silent Sister. “We have women come here, too, wanting to be taken roughly – or very, very gently. The fantasies are all different, the urges take all kinds of forms, but sex, at large, is a human urge that needs fulfilling of some kind. And while some are satisfied with the fantasy, others have to live it out.”</p><p>Jaime can see the Sister’s knuckles turning white, can see her jaw clenching so tightly he is pretty sure that he is not the only one with tooth aches tonight. If he doesn’t watch it closely, she may try to play heroine again and take out her frustrations on that brothel owner. And while Jaime thinks the guy deserves all of it, it is not the right time.</p><p>
  <em>I learned the hard way that you have to seize the right opportunity.</em>
</p><p>Because if you act rashly, you end up with a case you can never close and that will haunt you even behind the grave.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>“And you make sure they get to fulfill that urge no matter what urges the girls and boys may be having, running very much contrary to that,” Jaime comments, in an effort to keep the guy’s attention on him instead. “Like the urge to live.”</p><p>“Again, all are here voluntarily –,” Baelish tries to argue, but yet again, only gets to try. “– I bet Ros rather wouldn’t have taken that job, in the retrospective.”</p><p>“I did not force her. I wasn’t there. She got the customer assigned to her a week before and she agreed. Ros knew the risks of her profession. And it pains me to know that her last job for me was the end of her entire career, her entire life.”</p><p>“Yeah, you surely will cry yourself to sleep tonight.” Jaime shakes his head.</p><p>“It is all very unfortunate.”</p><p>“Unfortunate?” the Silent Sister repeats disbelievingly, and Jaime tends to agree, “<em>Unfortunate</em> is forgetting your phone or winding up pregnant because a condom broke. But it is not exactly unfortunate to be violently murdered and mutilated.”</p><p>“You are right of course. You must excuse my poor wording, but I am just… still very shocked. I can barely keep myself together, you might be able to imagine,” the brothel owner says, barely concealing his joy that he gets to play this game, believing himself so invincible, able to control chaos he created. And Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if the guy didn’t get a little hard because of it.</p><p>
  <em>This is just a last respite, asshole. You are just not important enough to bother with right now.</em>
</p><p>Jaime shakes his head. How much he’d like to punch the guy until even the last bit of sardonic demeanor left him. But Petyr Baelish is unimportant, so it’s better to let this go. He has to, or else the focus shifts away from what matters: This case and this case only.</p><p>The detective lets his gaze wander over to the Sister, who managed far better to hold her tongue than he would have expected it from that rather vocal Silent Sister. Her knuckles are white, her paled lips a thin line. Judging by the tension in her limbs, she is about to burst.</p><p>
  <em>But that’s part of the job, too, Sister, so you better learn the lesson now: You have to set priorities. And sometimes you have to let a lesser evil slide and continue to cause mischief.</em>
</p><p>“Well, I think that is all we need at the moment,” Jaime announces. He can instantly feel the intensity of the Silent Sister’s gaze on him, not quite believing what she just heard. She probably expected Jaime to do what he did with the drunkard trying to get his way with the two girls. And while he’d have no trouble beating that smug guy to pulp, it wouldn’t help them solve the case.</p><p>
  <em>And it won’t help the girl either. She is dead already, and nothing we do will ever change that, Sister. No matter how closely you listen to the dead.</em>
</p><p>“Is that…,” she mutters, but Jaime cuts her off before she can make it seem like he can be wavered in his opinion by her. “I think it’s time we write up our reports. And I bet Mr. Baelish still has some customers to entertain.”</p><p>The guy smirks at him, this time Jaime is the one not to smile back.</p><p>“Though I suggest you stay in the city, in case we have some further questions. Unless you refuse to cooperate, of course. In which case…,” Jaime adds, his voice trailing off.</p><p>“Oh, the law enforcement and I have always gotten along so well, as I said.”</p><p>“We will be expecting the records as soon as possible. You may add any traces of money transactions from Ros’s last customer, should you happen to have at least some record of that. Or else just let us know what bank to call,” Jaime says dismissively. “And as a fair warning, you may see more police surveillance around here. I wouldn’t want to see another girl ending up like Ros… and of course… you winding up dead is also <em>some</em> kind of concern.”</p><p>“I can only thank you for your care, Detective. My employees’ wellbeing –,” Baelish tries yet again, and yet again, without standing a chance. “– is surely your only care in life. Well, I think we will talk again some time.” He gets up. The Silent Sister glares at him before standing up as well.</p><p>“I am happy to help wherever I can,” Baelish says, smiling.</p><p>“We will be in touch.”</p><p>“Thank you for coming by, to the both of you. Of course you are both welcome to spend some more time at my establishment, if you want,” Baelish offers, still trying to act smug, when he really, <em>really</em> shouldn’t.</p><p>“I think I have to pass,” Jaime answers. “It’s been a strenuous day for the Sister, and she really needs to go to bed.”</p><p>Baelish smiles at her. “Sweet dreams, then.”</p><p>“I will pray for Ros tonight,” she replies. “And for you as well, of course.”</p><p>“Oh, that is most kind,” he chuckles softly.</p><p>“For your… <em>atonement</em>.”</p><p>The brothel owner grimaces, then puts on his fake smile again. “… Most kind of you. And you are all the more welcome to try the sin of pleasure if you so choose. As you will have heard, we value discretion.”</p><p>“Seven blessings to you, Mr. Baelish,” she answers quietly, standing up.</p><p>“Good evening, Sister Brienne,” Baelish replies. “Detective.”</p><p>He looks back on the table. “Oh, your picture.”</p><p>“Oh, by all means, keep it,” Jaime replies. He relishes the way the guy involuntarily squirms at that. “<em>Sweet dreams</em>.”</p><p>With that, he turns around and heads after the Silent Sister, who is already making for the door, fists balled, every muscle in her body tensed.</p><p>“Easy now,” Jaime mutters in a low voice as he catches up with her. “You can lose your temper once we are out of here, got it?”</p><p>“I have no temper to lose,” she hisses through gritted teeth definitely attesting to the contrary.</p><p>Jaime frowns, hoping that she is not about to throw spark plugs at Baelish when he isn’t looking. It doesn’t take a behavioral analyst to tell that this woman is short before throwing a fit. Her fists were balled for such a long time that they are almost completely drained of color in some places whereas other spots are red as blood. The muscles in her plain, freckled face are tight, her lips almost colorless from being pressed together for so long.</p><p>
  <em>Like a bubble about to burst.</em>
</p><p>And wasn’t that the whole point of the trip – beside the information they got?</p><p>They navigate through the dark maze again. The cacophony is still the same, safe for new customers, but the same moans of assurance come from the <em>entertainers</em>.</p><p>As they reach the bar again, a large group of businessmen with loosened ties is led into a separate area off to their left, hidden behind translucent curtains. Inside, the entertainers are already dancing, just as the Seven made them.</p><p>“Oh, you are already leaving? Pity. I really hoped you’d changed your mind,” the bartender calls out, winking at them yet again.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” Jaime says, offering a smirk. “You got to work and so do we.”</p><p>“Well, you are most welcome to have a drink when we are all off of work.”</p><p>“Many thanks.”</p><p>The detective whips his head around to see the Silent Sister heading over at the curtained area. He already means to stop her, fearing she is about to throw a punch at an unknowing customer, but he stops in his tracks when he can hear her announce for all people to hear: “Seven blessings to you all, gentlemen, ladies! May the Maiden look upon you kindly tonight.”</p><p>Jaime has to bite back a laugh as the men all stutter “Seven blessings to you, too, Sister”. Even through the curtain, he can see how they all straighten their ties, paying absolutely no attention to their actual entertainers. The Silent Sister closes the curtains again and quickly walks over to the exit.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Jaime asks, blinking. Maybe he should have asked if she is okay, but then again, that’s all part of the lesson, isn’t it? Because this is the reality of the job, seeing this shit and having to move on because there are more important things.</p><p>
  <em>And sometimes, saving some people is more important than the lack of honor of shooting a guy in the back unarmed.</em>
</p><p>The Silent Sister doesn’t answer his question anyway, instead she pushes past the beaded curtain to head out into the cool night.</p><p>“<em>Seriously</em>, come back you guys!” Olyvar laughs, holding his toned stomach.</p><p>“Bye!” Jaime says, waving.</p><p>The bartender claps his hands together. “I’m gonna sell a lot of drinks tonight to make them forget that, ha!”</p><p>Jaime finds the Silent Sister stalking back to the car at a fast pace, the echoes of her stomping feet echoing even louder than the cacophony inside. Jaime has to nearly jog to keep up with her.</p><p>
  <em>Damned long legs. She’s at an unfair advantage here!</em>
</p><p>Once they reach the car, Jaime leans against the hood of the car, unable to hold back his laughter for just a second longer.</p><p>“Damn, I really would have wanted to see their ugly faces this one time,” he giggles, feeling a bit light-headed as cold air floods his lungs, taking with it the heavy air inside that damned brothel, oozing Baelish’s way too big ego.</p><p>The cold air always does wonders to wash away the heat of his anger.</p><p>
  <em>Though it never washes away the heat of green flames.</em>
</p><p>“I do apologize, but I couldn’t help myself,” the Silent Sister replies, bowing her head, surely balling her fists again.</p><p>“Oh, this is more than fine by me. I mean, no one can complain about getting an adieu from a Silent Sister. You were merely being polite.”</p><p>“As were you,” she notes.</p><p>Jaime sighs. He knew she’d take it the wrong way, but then again, that is the consequence of the choice he made to bring her. “Well, in contrast to some, I don’t just throw spark plugs at people I hate.”</p><p>She scowls at that. Jaime laughs.</p><p>
  <em>No, those I truly hate, I shoot in the back, haven’t you heard?</em>
</p><p>“I already told you –,” the tall woman means to say, but Jaime stops her, “– which is why I need no revisiting, Sister. That’s just how it is when you question a guy like that, whether you’d want justice to ring or not.”</p><p>“This man is despicable,” the Sister notes.</p><p>“He is,” Jaime agrees. “At the very least, we now know her name and we know what led up to this. So at the very least, our little trip to purgatory was not for nothing.”</p><p>He climbs into the car and starts the engine. The Silent Sister follows suit, struggling to fold her long legs into the car, which still manages to amuse him. In general, her discomfort is more of a pleasure than it probably should be.</p><p>
  <em>But who the fuck cares?</em>
</p><p>“But not much beside that,” she comments, making her dissatisfaction no secret.</p><p>“More than I expected. He lost his composure, which is rare enough,” Jaime argues, which has the Silent Sister frown at him. “He seemed pretty composed to me.”</p><p>“He was quick to gather himself, but the guy definitely slipped a few times,” Jaime points out. “And <em>that</em> is what I needed. If you catch them unawares, even the best poker player will show you the secret behind the tell.”</p><p>“He didn’t appear too touched by her death as far as I am concerned,” she argues.</p><p><em>Oh boy, do I have news for you, Sister</em>, he thinks to himself. <em>You are done quicker counting the few people that actually care. Most people don’t lose their sleep over it. And damn, sometimes I wished I didn’t either.</em></p><p>Because then he could sleep, maybe. But he does care, though he makes sure his body does not betray the exterior of a man who does not. It’s easier that way.</p><p>“Because he surely had a customer who wanted to be her last ever customer in every sense of the term,” Jaime explains drily. The Silent Sister looks at him. Even in the dark, he can feel the intensity of her blue eyes gazing at him and it makes his neck stiff.</p><p>“You mean…”</p><p>He nods his head. “I mean that someone paid to not just have sex with Ros, but to do with her however he pleased. That the entertainment Baelish sold to the customer was her life being taken. A massage without happy ending, so to speak.”</p><p>“And… still, you didn’t take him into custody?” She gapes at him, not quite believing it. “Or have police do it now?”</p><p>Jaime tries hard not to roll his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>So much to a lesson learned.</em>
</p><p>“I could have chanced it, sure, but to what result, Sister? Think about it. The theory is in all likability correct, but where is the evidence to build a case with? You won’t find his finger prints on the murder weapon. I can already tell you that the phone records won’t reveal anything useful, and surely nothing we could use against him. Any trace there is or was will be gone by the time it is sent to us. He’ll see to that. We won’t get a confession. All he did was to get her a customer. And if that customer killed her, he can always claim that he didn’t know.”</p><p>“That’s not right.”</p><p>“It’s not right, but that is how it works,” Jaime tells her. “The same way it works that a guy just has to pay a certain amount of money to buy a girl, literally.”</p><p>“I can’t believe that someone would…,” she mumbles, shaking her head, her fingers fidgeting over her gray robes to straighten them out.</p><p>“They are out there. And Mr. Baelish knows well to entertain those special guests with their special appetites for his own gain. The guy stops at nothing, simple as that. Just like those guys don’t, which is why they get along so well.”</p><p>“But… but she worked for him. I mean…,” she ponders, seemingly still trying to wrap her head around the simple truth that yes, people <em>are</em> bad. And that yes, some enjoy it. And that yes, they won’t stop because of a lack of conscience.</p><p>“But you heard him, she <em>disappointed</em> him. Ros grew inconvenient, so he got her out of the way, by making a few extra stags along the way. Because guys with that special appetite have to pay a big tip for that very special treatment.”</p><p>Jaime reaches into his pocket to take out a cigarette. And the truth is that even though they know it’s happening, there is no way to keep it from happening. Even if you charge the customers who got the special treatment, even if you throw them into prison, castrate them, behead and quarter them, this will madness continue. Because those are the ones they know. But there is more of them out there, lurking in the dark.</p><p>“You are right, though, he wasn’t touched by her death,” Jaime adds. “What made him lose composure was when he thought back to the reason of them parting ways. That guy trusts no one but himself. But he felt betrayed by her. And <em>that</em> cut deep.”</p><p>“Fragile masculinity?” she huffs.</p><p>He laughs at that, lighting the cigarette in his mouth. “Something like that, surely. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually weren’t just employer and employee, if you catch my drift. That doesn’t mean he cared for her, but it hurt his pride even more that someone he stuck his thin cock into dared to turn against him.”</p><p>The Silent Sister frowns at him. “Meaning what exactly?”</p><p>“Meaning that Ros probably didn’t work only for him.”</p><p>“You think she worked for another brothel owner?”</p><p>“I think she worked for someone who was eager for the same sources Baelish offered, for the <em>side business</em>. That is much more dangerous. Those girls mean nothing to him. They are mere pawns in his game. What makes a difference is if his one valued good is threatened,” Jaime explains.</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“Knowledge. Dirty secrets. Everything that helps him gain power in this city. In entire Westeros, even,” he answers. “Ros entertained customers for his side business or rivals of his clients. She was educated by him to extract information and hand it to him to make for one hell of a consultant.”</p><p>“So someone used the same source by getting Ros on his or her side,” the Silent Sister concludes, to which Jaime nods his head in agreement. “He found out and wanted to get rid of her. She didn’t just disappoint him, she suddenly posed a threat to his beloved business. And if he wanted to ensure that Ros wouldn’t spill any more secrets, all he had to do was to give her to one of those special customers.”</p><p>“Do you think he actually knows the murderer?” she asks.</p><p>“He seemed credible with not asking questions about the customer. He wants to stay clear of knowledge he could get convicted for. Like this, it’s just an unfortunate accident, as I said. Prostitution isn’t illegal. Having a brothel isn’t. And if a customer murders one of the girls when she is not in the house, there is nothing to build a legal case with, really. Had she been murdered in his house, it’d be different,” Jaime points out to her. “So I think he got a call, jumped on the opportunity and just jinxed it.”</p><p>“Maybe <em>he</em> suggested the warehouse, then,” the Sister says grimly.</p><p>“I wouldn’t put it past him. The guy understands that you don’t wash your dirty clothes on the front steps of your own house,” Jaime huffs. “And he probably got rockhard thinking himself so powerful for scaring a prostitute shitless before she was brutally murdered. Total charmer, that guy.”</p><p>“And he gets to carry on as he pleases while she is dead,” she mutters. “That isn’t fair.”</p><p>“Life isn’t fair, Sister.”</p><p>“Not unless we try to make it fair,” she grumbles in a low voice.</p><p>Jaime shakes his head, sucking in as much smoke from his cigarette as he can. “Honorable as it may be, the world is too corrupt, I’m afraid. It’s just beyond saving, Sister. So take my advice and stop trying. It just gives you a toothache.”</p><p>“Beyond saving… like those two girls we met tonight, you think.” She isn’t looking at him, but even in the dark, he can tell the loathing in her big blue eyes, the misgiving for not changing this wretched world on the verge of collapse.</p><p>Though hopefully, tonight will not only teach her that yes, this is the reality but also no, Jaime won’t move out of his way just to accommodate her die-hard sense of honor.</p><p>“I would hope those girls would find a guy to carry them into a better life, but I won’t suffocate, holding my breath for it to happen,” Jaime huffs.</p><p>He acted his part in the streets, but those honest guys who fall in love with the girls and make the effort to change their lives for the better? There are precious few of them, and not nearly enough to save them all.</p><p>“I know the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em> has some many uplifting stories about how sinners were saved, but in the end…,” he continues, puffing out smoke, “sinners don’t get happy endings in this world. Even the virtuous often don’t.”</p><p>
  <em>And you’d do better getting used to it, Sister.</em>
</p><p>“So things just go on in that place as this man wants them to. He keeps exploiting those girls, throwing them away once they are no longer convenient, letting things <em>happen</em> to them,” she exhales, grinding her teeth. “And no one does anything about it to stop it. Just because that is how it is.”</p><p>“I will call up my brother to pester him a bit. While it is no more than a minor inconvenience for him, I’d like to keep him on his toes for a while. Though I understand that you are probably very much against that. It isn’t a very… lawful act, despite a lawyer being involved in it,” Jaime huffs, puffing out smoke. “Not so much of the Father’s justice, huh.”</p><p>“I meant what I said. I pray for that man’s atonement. And I believe any penance he will be forced into doing will serve the good in this world, however dim it may be in your opinion,” she replies.</p><p>He chuckles softly at that. “That’s an interesting interpretation of the <em>Seven-Pointed Star</em>.”</p><p>“The Faith of the Seven is more than this book,” the Silent Sister tells him, or rather, hisses at him.</p><p>“And everyone, the murderer included, takes it to mean whatever fits their purposes,” Jaime sighs.</p><p>“Sadly, yes.”</p><p>Jaime puts out the butt of the cigarette and starts to pull out of the alley, away from purgatory, stuck in endless repetition of the same cacophony over and over again.</p><p>“Will I be dropping you off at the Sept again? Do you need to pray for all the naked bodies you got to see? Or how you liked some of what you saw?” Jaime teases, grinning.</p><p>He chuckles softly when he can watch her body betray her, curling in on itself in sheer discomfort and hurt pride.</p><p>“I’d rather head to the hotel, if it’s not too much to ask, thank you,” the Silent Sister replies, barely moving her lips apart as she speaks.</p><p>“Good. Which one?”</p><p>“The Broken Anvil.”</p><p>“That’s not at all too prestigious,” Jaime comments.</p><p>“It suits me fine. I have all that I need there,” she answers. “Anyway, I am here for work. Except for sleeping and such, I have no intention to spend much time in my hotel room. I have work to do – as do you.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s almost a talent to put that much misgiving into just three little words.</em>
</p><p>“And here we are again, Sister, always against the rest of the world, huh?” he hums, not letting her scathing looks cut deep into his skin. She will have to step up her game if she wants to compare to the hundreds of people who have since reserved the right for themselves to meet him with nothing but misgiving for having killed a guy who definitely deserved it.</p><p>
  <em>And no one does anything about it to stop it. Just because that is how it is. Wasn’t it, huh?</em>
</p><p>“I just want to give it all I have, even if that doesn’t mean we get to save everyone,” she answers.</p><p>Jaime sighs, shaking his head. “Now don’t look so sour. That gives you wrinkles. And anyway, you should cheer up, Sister.”</p><p>“<em>Cheer up</em>?”</p><p>“We had a success today, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We have a name. We have more information than we did earlier in the day. And you made some business guys very, very uncomfortable,” he tells her. “So yeah, cheer up.”</p><p>“And here I thought none of it mattered,” the Silent Sister huffs, glancing out the window as the red lights of Silk Street disappear behind a slope in the street at last.</p><p>“You have to take what you get, Sister. We won’t win the war, but we can win some battles along the way.”</p><p>
  <em>It won’t get much better than that, trust me.</em>
</p><p>“Is that something you tell me in an effort to offer comfort?” she asks.</p><p>“It’s something I am telling you the same way I keep telling myself. How else do you think do I get up in the morning?”</p><p>“I thought it was mere spite,” she replies bluntly.</p><p>Jaime sniggers at that, because the Sister is not entirely wrong. “Spite can be a great motivator.”</p><p>And at some point, spite is the only thing that keeps you going, just to smile at the world, hiding just how much your teeth hurt. To prove them wrong by proving them right.</p><p>The Silent Sister folds her arms over her flat chest, going mute as she watches the streetlights whoosh past them.</p><p>
  <em>Silent treatment from a Silent Sister, who could have guessed?</em>
</p><p>“… I suppose I don’t have to ask you how you like it in the capital,” he adds after a while, growing too uncomfortable by the silence spreading in the car like the smoke of his cigarette.</p><p>“Then you suppose right,” the Sister quips.</p><p>“Have you ever been here before?” he asks casually. Because this may be a good opportunity to overstep even more boundaries. She is so wonderfully aggravated now, white-knuckled and pale-lipped that it should be relatively easy to coax some truths out of her without her notice.</p><p>
  <em>Because the body is the greatest traitor.</em>
</p><p>“No. After I left home, I went to Quiet Isle for my studies,” the Silent Sister answers, not even gracing him with a turn of her head in his direction.</p><p>“Well, nothing much you missed,” he snorts. “Many people claim that King’s Landing has the big city flair. But when you walk through the streets, you realize they all stink of piss and shit at night. In fact, I’d advise anyone against moving here. The count of murders per year is disproportionate to most other areas in Westeros. Safe for the regulars such as Pyke, which have modern-day pirate wannabes who shoot at anything that moves.”</p><p>“Have you ever considered moving?” the Silent Sister asks in turn.</p><p>“To where?” he asks back.</p><p>“Back home?” the Sister suggests.</p><p><em>Home</em>. Yet another word that sounds so good in theory, like justice. In the end, Jaime found out that home is just a construct, an emotional comfort zone. It is a nice imaginative place where all the good things of the past are projected onto. Childhood memories always seem so sweet, looking back, a contrast to your otherwise shitty life, to somehow convince yourself that there was a time when you were better. That there was a time when you were good and innocent, too.</p><p>“I’ve been here for the past twenty plus years, so I got used to the idea that this wretched city is my home now, for better or worse,” he sighs. “And anyway, I know that they’d take any opportunity to clear my desk if I were to leave it for too long.”</p><p>
  <em>And if I don’t watch it, you may very well contribute to that. And once that desk is cleared, I might just as well toss myself into my shallow grave.</em>
</p><p>“You have a nationwide reputation as one of the best profilers in entire Westeros. They’d be foolish not to want to keep you,” she argues.</p><p>“How nice of you to say,” he hums.</p><p>“I am merely stating the facts, Detective.”</p><p>He smirks. “You did speak to Robert, though? I still think that he started digesting his brain because the guy can’t get enough. But it’s more of the rest of the happy troop who don’t want to put up with me. I may not have been found guilty by the judge for murdering a certain member of the Targaryen clan, but they certainly made up their mind long before he swung his hammer just like the Father himself would have done it.”</p><p>She says nothing at that, probably getting all worked up about Jaime now daring to take the Seven’s name into his dirty, dirty mouth. His smile broadens at the thought.</p><p>“And I rather keep away from certain family members, which makes Casterly Rock not really an option for me,” he adds nonchalantly.</p><p>Jaime made a choice, long time ago, and he since lives with the consequences as best as he can. He made his peace with dying here, hoping for a quick death on a mission to somehow give purpose to the inevitable.</p><p>“And how is it with you? Any urge to go back home?” he asks.</p><p>“Not as of late, no. I think it’s for the better,” the Silent Sister answers.</p><p>
  <em>Interesting.</em>
</p><p>“People say that when they think it’s best <em>for them</em> so that they don’t have to face problems that would await them at home,” Jaime points out to her.</p><p>The Silent Sister turns her head in his direction. “And how is it with you, then?”</p><p>“It definitely is for the better that I don’t go back home,” he laughs.</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“See, we do have some things in common, Sister.”</p><p>“I do hope to keep that at a bare minimum,” she huffs.</p><p>He sniggers. “Oh, how rude.”</p><p>“Your attitude, frankly, is very contrary to what it takes to be a Silent Sister.”</p><p>“Which is an interesting wording, as it suggests that you aren’t one. Or else you’d consider it part of your personality,” Jaime ponders.</p><p>“And sometimes wording is just wording,” she huffs.</p><p>“Right. Next thing I know you turn out to be a prostitute disguising as a Silent Sister,” he laughs.</p><p>She scoffs at that, folding her arms over her flat chest. “For that you are so well at analyzing people, you do a poor job finding the right moment and tone, Detective. Because I frankly do not have the nerve for such ridiculous conversation after what just happened tonight, or what happened to Ros.”</p><p>“I learned that you often have to be very uncomfortable to people to find out the truth,” he replies. “Those who only answer when asked or ask given the chance won’t find out what it takes to get the job done.”</p><p>“Analyzing <em>me</em> is part of your job?” the Silent Sister asks, cocking an eyebrow.</p><p>“Analyzing people is my one job and one directive,” he tells her. “And for now, I can’t change it that you are around like the stone in my shoe. So I have to see what I got to work with.”</p><p>“You still think of me as a mere liability.” She shakes her head.</p><p>“I wouldn’t be that rash,” the detective chuckles softly. “You proved helpful on more occasions so far than I would have guessed, but in the end, I best work alone.”</p><p>“I believe that much. I wouldn’t want to know how someone makes it through the day listening to all that you just seem to <em>have</em> to say.”</p><p>Jaime laughs louder than is necessary, nearly choking on it. He can’t even tell just why this woman irritates him as much as she does.</p><p>
  <em>It must be the eyes.</em>
</p><p>He rarely had it that someone’s judgment of him was sparking at him even in the dark of his car. He knows he is being judged, laughed at, scorned, for what he did and how he got his head out of the sling of a murder charge. Yet, this woman somehow strikes a different tone. She is right in his face about it, which Jaime even appreciates in an odd way. He rather has them curse him to his face than whisper behind his back, but the silent judgment she holds in her eyes, flexing her wrists, grinding her teeth. <em>That</em> is what puts him on edge. It brings him back to Ned Stark always watching him from the corner of his eye, acting like he had the higher ground only just because he found them first and thus got to tell the story.</p><p>
  <em>Because the dead don’t talk, no matter what the Sister may have to say differently about it. </em>
</p><p>And Jaime is just done being judged, by her or just about anyone. There was a trial and he wasn’t found guilty. And maybe it is self-serving that he passed the sentence for man like the Father himself, but Aerys Targaryen, undoubtedly, was a madman and a murderer. So why does everyone still get their panties in a knot about his death? What about the people he killed? Cooked alive? Burned to a cinder?</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>“You just ran a red light!”</p><p>Jaime blinks, looking up. “That was… dark yellow.”</p><p>“I’d much appreciate it if you kept your eyes on the road,” she hisses, clutching her necklace about as tightly as she tends to ball her fists.</p><p>“There was no one there anyway, not at that hour, no need to huff and puff, Sister,” he argues. Jaime knows that she is right, of course, but he also knows that being right doesn’t necessarily make you win an argument.</p><p>
  <em>Just like doing the right thing didn’t manage to make people forget about that one wrong thing I had to do to make that happen.</em>
</p><p>“You know, it makes your grand speech about having to keep me safe all the more comedic,” she says, blowing out air through her nostrils. “Because I don’t quite fancy losing my life in a car accident because a detective can’t keep his eyes on the road after a drink.”</p><p>“Sister, nothing happened,” he retorts. “And believe it or not, I <em>did</em> mean that part of my grand speech.”</p><p>“It will certainly make me rest easy tonight, Detective,” she huffs. “To know that you don’t want me dead, but wouldn’t seem to mind if I died in a car crash.”</p><p>“And here I thought we bonded over this fun experience, Sister.”</p><p>“And here I thought you were so great reading people.”</p><p>He huffs. “A man can hope.”</p><p>“He surely can, but I am fairly sure that this is anything but your intention, Detective.”</p><p>Jaime pulls into Eel Alley, making up his mind right at the moment the sign of the Broken Anvil appears at a distance that this has to end, some of the blue neon lights no longer working, thus making it almost look like the name of the hotel was Broken Anal. Normally, he’d laugh at that, but Jaime finds his body betraying him right there as he can feel his fingers tight around the steering wheel.</p><p>
  <em>Lesson over.</em>
</p><p>Or else he will be the one burning alive to a cinder from the intensity of her fiery judgment. And before Jaime can join the flames, he still has a case to crack. Because yes, it is spite that keeps moving him, and so the Silent Sister will have to deal with his spite in turn.</p><p>“Aaaaand were are there,” he announces, parking the car. “Gee, in your presence, time flies. The car ride only felt like an hour or so.”</p><p>She unbuckles her seatbelt. “I thank you for taking the time, Detective.”</p><p>“Oh please, it was an <em>absolute</em> pleasure,” he replies, smiling the fakest smile he has in him. “I bet I will find you at the morgue first thing in the morning, talking to the dead.”</p><p>“And I bet you will be… around as you choose,” she returns, opening the car door.</p><p>“Damn straight.”</p><p>“Seven blessings to you, Detective. And a good night.”</p><p>“Sweet dreams, Sister. And hey, I bet the Seven would promptly forgive you from scratching the itch a bit after all the leather shorts, tits and barely concealed cunts you saw on Silk Street. The Gods don’t look around here, trust me, so if you want to reach into your robes to get some of the thrill, tonight is the night.”</p><p>The Silent Sister says nothing as she climbs out of the car and shuts the door with a loud thud. Jaime laughs to himself as she walks away, clutching perhaps not her pearls but her necklace all the tighter as she goes, fists balled, and none the wiser.</p><p>
  <em>Which may be a lesson for us both, huh?</em>
</p><p>Once the Silent Sister disappears inside the shabby hotel, Jaime reaches into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and fishes out his phone. He hits speed dial and holds the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“How drunk are you?” he asks.</p><p>“A good evening to you, too, brother dear. And to answer your most kind question: I am only on my second glass of red arbor.”</p><p>“Only your second? On withdrawal much?” Jaime snorts.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Do you have a minute or two?”</p><p>“Even if I had a girl’s mouth snuck around my cock, it wouldn’t stop you from taking my time anyway,” Tyrion replies. “So do go ahead.”</p><p>Jaime furrows his eyebrows. “You don’t have one, do you?”</p><p>“You tell me,” his brother huffs. Jaime laughs at that. “Not likely, no change in tone of voice, no faster breathing, but it can’t harm to ask because I wouldn’t put it past you little lech.”</p><p>“So? What can I do for you?” the younger man wants to know.</p><p>“Remember how pissed you were about Littlefinger getting off the hook last time your client tried to move against him and withdrew?” Jaime asks.</p><p>“Yeah? I really wanted to sue his scrawny ass, but the guy chickened out at the last second,” Tyrion huffs.</p><p>“Well, lucky you, you get to pester him a bit.”</p><p>“How do I come to that honor?”</p><p>“I can’t give you too many details, active case and all,” Jaime answers. “Suffice to say he is due some punishment.”</p><p>“So nothing that will get him arrested?” Tyrion sighs. “How disappointing.”</p><p>“Not yet. I need to see how he moves. That will determine whether he’s had to do with what I am currently looking at or if he was just being his usual asshole self,” he answers.</p><p>“Do you have anything in particular in mind?”</p><p>“Surprise me. Just make sure he stays in the city for a while – if you can. And of course I’d greatly appreciate any nuggets you have on the guy for further research,” Jaime tells him. “I only remember half of what you told me when police tried to get him by the balls last time.”</p><p>“Well, this is more of a treat than a favor,” Tyrion comments. “So… what else do you want?”</p><p>“You still have some very nosy friends, right?” Jaime asks, putting a new cigarette in his mouth.</p><p>“Birds of feather flock together.”</p><p>Jaime lights the cigarette. “If you find the time, listen around a bit for a woman named Brienne of Tarth, or Sister Brienne as she is now called.”</p><p>He blows out smoke against the front window, letting it blur out the hotel with its blue neon signs, which do not compare to the blue judgment in the woman’s eyes he just bid adieu to.</p><p>Jaime was surprised when she mentioned her name during their not at all cheerful first meeting. He did not expect to see a mannish Silent Sister in the first place, but he certainly expected even less a Silent Sister with old royal blood running in those hardened veins.</p><p>“Brienne of Tarth… sounds oddly familiar,” the younger man ponders.</p><p>“Her father was quite the sensation back in the day, I know that much from the news,” Jaime confirms. “Selwyn of Tarth was a highly decorated army general who dropped out after his father’s death to save the family company. Business with fishing had been dwindling fast, so by the time he took over, it was in shambles. That guy managed to turn it around and triple the profits in just two years by turning the business completely upside-down. The guy was one of the first to invest in green energy before it was considered cool, using water energy. At least that is what you can easily get from the internet.”</p><p>Though sadly, that was almost all he got last night, when he wanted to sleep but couldn’t, as always.</p><p>
  <em>You won’t ever get rid of me, Detective. I will rise again. I always will. So we can burn together.</em>
</p><p>“I knew it rang a bell somehow,” Tyrion says. “f I remember correctly, our dear father had a vested interest to be in good graces with the man back in the day, but Mr. Tarth was little impressed with Father’s not always strictly legal practices.”</p><p>“I am more interested in his daughter, though,” Jaime argues. Because his little late-night research got him a bit of a background on her father, but nothing much on her.</p><p>“Why is that? Suspect?”</p><p>“Consultant and a regular pain in the ass,” Jaime answers.</p><p>“You seriously want a background check on your consultant?”</p><p>“I <em>did</em> mention that she is a pain in the ass, yes?”</p><p>“I’d just like to know what for,” the younger man argues.</p><p>Jaime sighs. “I want to know who Robert forces me to work with. I just want to be sure that the guy doesn’t repeat what good old dead Ned tried to do. I seriously don’t have the nerve for that.”</p><p>Jaime learned not to trust way before that whole affair went down, but he just doesn’t have the time to think about whether someone is talking shit behind his back, making his work more difficult than it is by nature.</p><p>
  <em>Because of priorities. Priorities matter. They make a difference. I understood that by now and I won’t make that mistake again.</em>
</p><p>“You know, I may not be the profiler here, but I do know people rather well,” Tyrion says. “And you make it sound like this is, if at all, part of the reason why.”</p><p>“I <em>need</em> to know. Robert won’t let me know and she’s got no reason to tell me. I don’t want a full background check. I just want to know the basic background, that’s all.”</p><p>He can hear the other man sigh on the other end of the line. “You make it sound like she acts as more than just your consultant, just for your information and occasional reality check.”</p><p>
  <em>You are so lucky that I love you, brother dear, because you are often just a pain in the ass, too.</em>
</p><p>“Which is precisely the problem. And I don’t have room for that. I have a case to solve. The woman keeps me from it because she won’t understand her place,” Jaime tells him.</p><p>“So you are gonna teach her?” the younger man sniggers. “Oh, how medieval, brother.”</p><p>“She overestimates herself, questions me when she shouldn’t, acts when she should stay put, and thinks she knows it all coz she read it in a book or something. I can’t have that on a job because yeah, that sometimes makes the difference between a living consultant and a dead consultant. Or detective for that same matter.”</p><p>“Always so dramatic,” Tyrion chuckles softly. “Anyway, maybe this is the sign that you need a partner after all.”</p><p>Jaime rolls his eyes. They had that conversation far too often by now. He had that conversation with too many people over a too long period of time. He doesn’t need a partner, doesn’t need a team. He just needs to be left alone to do his bloody job.</p><p>
  <em>And apparently, even that is asked too much.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t need a partner. I need for people to just shut up and leave me in peace,” Jaime snaps.</p><p>“With that attitude, you are surely getting there eventually.”</p><p>Jaime leans his head back with a groan. “Not you, too. Listen, I just want some background information. That’s all I am asking.”</p><p>“You know, you might just as well ask her.”</p><p>“She is a Silent Sister.”</p><p>“They are allowed to talk these days, you know?”</p><p>“Had to learn the hard way,” Jaime grumbles. “So? Will you be nice to me and do me the favor? I have to focus on the case, which is why I’d like to outsource here.”</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>, I’ll listen around, see what I can do.”</p><p>“Much appreciated.”</p><p>“For delivering Littlefinger to me at last, it’s the least I can do for my favorite big brother.”</p><p>“I am your only big brother.”</p><p>“And the only family member I am on speaking terms with, so you are definitely in the top three of favorite Lannisters altogether.”</p><p>Jaime frowns. “Who’s up there with me?”</p><p>“Aunt Genna and Orson.”</p><p>He shrugs. “Fair enough.”</p><p>“Alright, if that’s all, I will help myself to another glass of wine,” the younger man says. “Three is a lucky number, isn’t it?”</p><p>The older man grins at that. “Mhm, tell your sweetheart hi from me once she comes by.”</p><p>“I don’t have a sweetheart.”</p><p>Jaime grins. “Yeah right, tell her hi anyway.”</p><p>“Love you, too.”</p><p>Jaime snorts before hanging up. He leans his head forward again to look at the blue-lit hotel once more. He learned his lesson, and it is quite simple: This woman has to retreat back to where she belongs, inside a morgue in white robes, doing an admittedly fine job, so long she sticks to her guns – and not to his.</p><p>Jaime is not here to play babysitter. He is not here to play anyone’s savior. If you can’t save yourself, there is only so many you can keep afloat without drowning yourself. And Jaime still has some spite to give to keep going for as long as he has to.</p><p>Tonight proved that the reality check didn’t convince her, so Jaime now knows this one thing for sure about her, even without the background check: This woman needs a reality check with her own past to understand the lesson he is about to teach her in the present.</p><p>
  <em>And maybe going back home will be much a sweeter option for you, then, Sister. So you might just as well thank me for it once it’s time.</em>
</p><p>Though he doubts it. That woman will see the wrong in every of his acts the same way she sees the wrong in his entire person. And in that way, she is not much different from all the others who whisper behind his back.</p><p>And Jaime knows by now that he does best without them.</p><p>He starts the engine and pulls back out into the street, for another tour through purgatory, hoping that it may not give him sweet dreams but at least blissful nothingness to cling onto for a couple of hours.</p><p>Though he fears his body will betray him the way it always does.</p><hr/><p>In a darkened room, a man sits in his chair, looking down on the phone in front of him. When the phone starts ringing, he straightens up and presses a button on a device next to the phone.</p><p>He smiles, picking up the phone after letting it ring one more time. “Mr. Baelish. It’s been a while.”</p><p>“I suspect you know the reason for my call,” the man on the other end of the line grumbles.</p><p>The man smiles thinly. “I have a vague idea.”</p><p>“Well, then you should get a better idea fast: I do not appreciate it to have a murder investigation taking place in my establishment. The terms of our agreement were very clearly stated. Special treatment also means special care when it comes to cleaning up the mess. And since you refused the clean-up package you could have booked, I expected you to know what you were doing. Though it seems I was gravely mistaken.”</p><p>“All that needed cleansing had its stains removed,” the man answers.</p><p>“You call a dead prostitute hung up in a warehouse like a damn puppet properly cleaned up?” the brothel owner scoffs.</p><p>“She was cleansed of all the bad in the world.”</p><p>“I don’t have the time or nerve for this bullshit. Listen carefully: I had the damn police come in here and ask me questions. I now have to see how I manage that your mess does not affect that of my clients who know how to stick to the rules. And this doesn’t even mention that I made it very clear to you that I do not want to have my name anywhere near an investigation regarding that prostitute’s death.”</p><p>“I imagine that this is an inconvenience for you,” the man says, spinning back and forth in his chair.</p><p>“More than an <em>inconvenience</em>. I had a detective come in today and make idle threats. And he brought a septa to scare off my customers as well! I lost good money that night, thanks to you.”</p><p>The man frowns, sitting up straighter. “A septa, you say?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. She barely spoke, which was the one good thing about her. I am much more concerned with the detective sniffing around my establishment, as that may very well affect my actual business, you might imagine.”</p><p>“You are frustrated, but why exactly are you calling me, Mr. Baelish?” the man sighs.</p><p>“I want you to understand that this was the last time as my customer. I also want to inform you that if this falls back on me, I will reveal all information I have on you, however scarce it is. I will not let my business suffer for your dirty business,” the brothel owner hisses.</p><p>The man huffs at that. “<em>Dirty business</em>. Now, that is almost comedic coming from you of all people.”</p><p>“My employees are all clean, I make sure of it. Regularly. And prostitution is not illegal in the Seven Kingdoms, in case you didn’t get the memo just yet,” the brothel owner snaps. “In fact, it may very well soon get a better reputation – if the laws are finally changed.”</p><p>“And yet, he the whoremonger is a sinner in the eyes of the Seven.”</p><p>“Now don’t start me with that fanatic idiocy. I don’t have the patience for that. I gave you the girl to live out your fantasies, but I believe I made it very clear that the special treatment does not only come with greater costs but also greater responsibility.”</p><p>“You said she was inconvenient to you,” the man points out to him.</p><p>“She turned out to be, but that doesn’t mean I want a detective following me and destroying my business,” the other man snarls.</p><p>“Justice was duly served, Mr. Baelish. Rest easy in the knowledge that the moment she confessed, she ascended to the Heavens above to find mercy at the hands of the Seven who readily embraced her.”</p><p>“She could have died in the gutter for all I care – so long it leaves my business unaffected, but that didn’t happen, thanks to you.”</p><p>The man exhales, grinding his teeth. “And that says more about you than it says about the burden of her sins.”</p><p>“I just want to ensure that you understand this one thing: We do not know one another. And if they catch you, you better make sure to keep silent about my involvement in it. To you, I was merely the man who offered you the services of one of his prostitutes, unaware of your sick obsessions. And if you don’t stick to this most simple rule, I will make it my personal obligation that law enforcement will find you even faster – if some of my good friends don’t get to you first. Did I make myself clear?”</p><p>The man smiles again, lets it flit into the dark and away. “Your idle threats may work on your whores, Mr. Baelish, but they don’t work on me.”</p><p>“I don’t make idle threats.”</p><p>“Neither do I.”</p><p>“Oh, so you are threatening me for calling you out on corrupting my business?”</p><p>“There is nothing I could corrupt that you haven’t already corrupted and brought to rot, Mr. Baelish. You are a merely culmination of so many sins that even the Seven will find it hard to show you a path back into the light,” the man tells him. “You will have to repent not just for your life but for many more. The one of the girl included.”</p><p>“You wanted her for special treatment, in case you forgot.”</p><p>“And you handed her over because she became inconvenient to you, in case <em>you</em> forgot.”</p><p>He can hear the other man smile on the other end of the line. “Oh, so is that what it is? You want to pay me back for doing my job?”</p><p>“I believe you are beyond penance, but the Seven grant it even to the greatest sinners. It is up to us to serve them and to fulfill their will on this earth. I give you any chance to go back on your ways and embrace the teachings of the Seven. And yet, I doubt you are going to take the chance as you do not have the faith in the salvation of the afterlife that only they provide.”</p><p>“I believe in neither salvation nor the afterlife. I believe in the here and now. I believe in money and in what it makes people do. I believe in power. And I know that knowledge is power. Thus, I rest comfortably in the knowledge of the inner workings of the earth you seem to detest so much. Because I know that clutching to some religious text may offer emotional comfort, but in the end, religion is also just another way to execute power. So I don’t see how your thirst for power is any better than mine.”</p><p>“Because it is not power I crave. It is forgiveness I seek, a mercy only the Seven can give. My thirst for their power will prevail for this one simple reason: Clever as you may be, you will burn just as hot as everyone else in the Seven Hells awaiting you. Because you won’t be able to talk yourself out of that.”</p><p>The brothel owner laughs drily at that. “How terrifying.”</p><p>“I pray for you, Mr. Baelish.”</p><p>“I don’t need your prayers.”</p><p>The man shakes his head. “You need them much more than you know.”</p><p>“Since you paid a large sum for the special treatment, this was my last part of the deal I was obliged to fulfill. Don’t come to us again for requests of the sort.”</p><p>“I will not require it.”</p><p>“Goodbye.”</p><p>“May the Seven be with you, Mr. Baelish.”</p><p>He doesn’t wait for more poison to pour over the phone and hangs up. The man presses the button on the device to shroud himself in the silence only found in the darkness of this place. The shuffling of feet gets the man’s attention.</p><p>A flicker of light waltzes into the room, the light of a small candle.</p><p>The man smiles. “My brother, come closer.”</p><p>The younger man does, taking with him the dim light of the candle.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” he wants to know.</p><p>“Everything goes according to their plan, yes, thank you,” the older man reassures him.</p><p>“What did he have to say?”</p><p>“What we expected, no more, no less. He does not yet see the error of his ways.”</p><p>“But he will.”</p><p>“Most certainly,” the older man agrees. “At the very least, our message was heard at last. After it was lost in the filth of this city.”</p><p>“At last.”</p><p>“Indeed,” the older man hums. “I need to ask a favor of you, brother, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>The older man smiles as he presses another button on the device next to the phone to take out a small tape. He holds it into the light of the candle as the younger man steps closer.</p><p>“We now have all we need for the first steps of the Walk, brother. You can already begin with our proclamation and ready it for its release into the world.”</p><p>“Yes, of course. Should I send it once it’s done?” the younger man wants to know as he takes the tape.</p><p>“I’d rather have you hold on to it for just a bit longer. Something unexpected revealed itself to me, a detail we cannot afford to miss, or else we may close our eyes to a truth the Seven have presented to us unexpected.”</p><p>“And what is that?”</p><p>“The whoremonger made mention of a septa who was in the company of the detective who came to ask him about the Maiden.”</p><p>“A septa?”</p><p>The older man nods his head. “We must be sure whether it is mere coincidence or truly a sign sent by the Gods. It may well be that they have sent her to proclaim our message. If she is of true faith, this septa will understand our call. And if her heart is pure, she will embrace it.”</p><p>“What do you want me to do about her, then?” the younger man questions.</p><p>“Ask the Crone for any information to shed some light on this unexpected mystery,” the older man answers. “And ensure that the Crone remains in the shadows when it comes to the Maiden. It is not yet time.”</p><p>“But what if this septa is with the rest of the sinners? What if she is not with us?”</p><p>“It is our solemn duty to judge each soul individually. And so, she deserves a chance like any other to prove the purity of her immortal soul,” the older man explains. “But if she is with the sinners truly, she will find judgment in this life so she may ascend to the Seven Heavens. It is the will of the Seven.”</p><p>The younger man nods in agreement. “Yes, of course.”</p><p>“Though I must say, I am most curious to see what the Seven planned for her,” the older man ponders, folding his hands under his chin. “A sinful man of no faith and a virtuous woman of the Faith about to do the Walk… it may be the sign we have been waiting for, brother, but did not dare wait for.”</p><p>“Maybe she is not of virtue, though.”</p><p>“For now we have no reason to suppose that she is not. We only know of the sins of the man who we chose to read our message. With her, we have to see yet, as she came to us most unexpectedly,” the older man argues. “And only if she proves to be made of sin will she be brought to trial. And if she is indeed of virtue, she will help him understand our call, and thus carry the message of the Seven into the world they are to walk again once it’s all done.”</p><p>“The prophet or the harlot.”</p><p>“We will take it as it is,” the older man says with a thin smile barely reaching out of the dark. “After all, we don’t just seek salvation for them but everyone.”</p><p>“Yes. I will get to work presently.”</p><p>“Thank you, brother.”</p><p>With that, the younger man walks away, taking with him the dim light of the candle and the echoes of his footsteps readily devoured by the dark.</p><p>The older man leans back in his chair, allowing the darkness to engulf him.</p><p>“And so it begins.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Matter of Perspective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime continues to be none too pleased with the Silent Sister keeping him on his toes.</p><p>Brienne continues to be none too pleased with the detective seemingly unable to be bothered to care about the victims, seemingly far too absorbed into his own problems.</p><p>And neither one is willing to back down.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello to those brave souls sticking with the story.</p><p>I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well. </p><p>Thanks and much love! ♥♥♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In a darkened tunnel, at the very end, small green lights dance over the water rushing through the sewers and away like emerald fireflies flying into the night sky. The air is damp and smells of hopelessness, something rotten to the core.</p><p>Inside the room from which the green light creeps its way into the water, he can feel the muscles in his fingers twitching around the trigger. He can feel his body betraying his confidence that this is without alternative, that this is the right thing to do. Because it has to be, no matter the confidence, no matter the conviction. It has to be, and yet, his fingers are trembling.</p><p>“… If you shoot me now, you won’t ever find them, Detective.”</p><p>“Find whom?” He steadies his grip on the gun as best as he can. He saw too many burn already. Who else is left there? What did he miss? He swallows.</p><p>“The ones chosen to be cleansed by fire.”</p><p>“They aren’t <em>cleansed</em>, they just die a horrible death.”</p><p>He saw it. He forced him to see it. He saw it, he smelled it. It is embedded into his memory, scourged inside him till the day he dies. And now he stands here to put out the flame that has been burning for too very long.</p><p>“This entire existence here is <em>horrible</em>, Detective. Just purgatory opening the gates of the Seven Hells. But the fire can bring it all to light. Only the fire can save them, save us all.”</p><p>“It doesn’t save them, it kills them.”</p><p>He knows it is useless. That man is beyond reason, way beyond the darkest corners of his wicked mind. And yet, he has to try. The tiniest fraction inside him that didn’t yet break is agonizing for this bit of mercy. That this just ends without him having to take it as far as it will likely have to go. That he won’t have to pull the trigger.</p><p>Because those bastards don’t ever stop. The madness never stops. It keeps burning and burning and burning.</p><p>He knows it, but he doesn’t want to burn with him.</p><p>“It kills them, so they are born again. Like me, once all is done. And you will burn with me, Detective. You all will.” The other man turns to him, smiling, green reflecting in his pale, glassy eyes. “Like the rest. We’ll burn together. All of us.”</p><p>“How many more burned that we didn’t yet find?” he demands to know, needs to know. Why else didn’t he end it yet? Because the man idly fondling the green vials containing his beloved fire may still hold some of the puzzle pieces he needs to finish this. So that his previous acts don’t betray the one promise he managed to uphold in this wretched city, in his wicked life: To put the victims in the light and cast the perpetrators into the shadows of nothingness. So they may be forgotten over time.</p><p>“Not enough burned, Detective. Not nearly enough.”</p><p>The other man laughs, stroking the vials like they are long lost lovers. He doesn’t laugh with him.</p><p>“Shoot me, then,” the other man coos. “You want it, I know it. I want it, too.”</p><p>“And you think I am going to give you what you want?” He readjusts his grip on his gun, feeling beads of sweat run over his skin.</p><p>“I know you will. Because that’s your destiny, Detective. Like it is mine to die and rise again. And it will be glorious. Like a dragon, I will come back here. And with me I will bring the eternal flame that will save us all.”</p><p>“You won’t rise again,” he spats. “You will just be dead.”</p><p>“Oh, I will live on. I will keep burning. And you will burn with me. That’s how I live on, burning with you, with everyone.”</p><p>“Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.”</p><p>He shoots. Once. Twice. To be sure. To be absolutely sure that the other man will indeed not rise again. Not now, not ever. If he accepts the Seven Hells as his resting place, at the very least, he will make sure that the bastard comes with him into these pits from which there is in fact no return to this horrible existence here on earth.</p><p>He feels tears in his eyes that just won’t fall. Because he is already starting to burn.</p><p>And fire consumes all tears.</p><p><em>Is this justice now?</em> he wonders. <em>Is that what it feels like? Then why does it feel so wrong?</em></p><p>He watches red pool underneath the man, can see life slipping out of him, offering the only satisfaction he could ever get out of this act. The knowledge that this one thing ended. That this man ended. That he cannot continue. That this fire went out.</p><p>White light rains onto his back. Screams and shouts echo over the green water, which smells still just as rotten.</p><p>“Put down the gun!”</p><p>“Don’t shoot!”</p><p>“Put it down!”</p><p>“Hands behind the back!”</p><p>“Behind the back!”</p><p>“Hands to where I can see them!”</p><p>“Now!”</p><p>“Now!”</p><p>“Now!”</p><p>It is at that moment that he goes away inside.</p><p>He turns around with a smile, allows the white light to blind him as he lets it creep further up until he himself almost believes in the wicked grimace betraying all he is and all he will ever be, going forward.</p><p>“Took you forever, Neddy Boy. Care to call for someone to clean up after me? I fear I made a bit of a mess here.”</p><p>He smiles through it all, smiles through the tears that won’t fall, right past the judgment in his colleagues’ eyes scratching, stabbing at him. He smiles into the light and walks towards it, lets it blind him, lets it engulf him, swallow him, bearing the burn.</p><p>And he decides right at this moment that if this is justice, justice might just as well fuck itself.</p><p>
  <em>Ring-ring.</em>
</p><p>Jaime opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the darkness. No tunnel, no green light, no white light, just the darkness in and around himself. And heat. Fire.</p><p>
  <em>Ring-ring.</em>
</p><p>The detective grunts as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Ah fuck, I just fell asleep, damn it!”</p><p>
  <em>Ring-ring.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck.” He suppresses the urge to throw the phone away as he picks it up. “Lo?”</p><p>“I went over the evidence again regarding Ros.”</p><p>
  <em>Justice can really fuck itself. Or herself, for that same matter.</em>
</p><p>Jaime rakes his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Was there a new murder?”</p><p>“No, as I said, this concerns new findings…”</p><p>“Why are you calling me at – what time’s it? – when no one was shot in the fuckin’ head with a seven-pointed star or whatever?”</p><p>“It’s quarter past three.”</p><p>“Why are you calling me at quarter past fuckin’ three when no one’s been fuckin’ killed, Sister? Pray tell.” Jaime snaps, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.</p><p>“I understood that there was no time to lose.”</p><p>“Yeah, but if I lose my goddamn mind, no one’s getting helped either. Damn it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he pulls the covers back. It’s too damn hot.</p><p>
  <em>Burning. I am burning. Fuck. </em>
</p><p>“I apologize for calling at this hour, Detective, but I thought you wanted to know immediately if I found something relating to the case,” she replies in the kind of voice Jaime does not have the nerve for right now.</p><p>“Do you even sleep?” Jaime asks. “Or do you recharge while praying?”</p><p>“… I slept for a while but then went back over the evidence because it wouldn’t leave me,” the Sister answers. “I remembered something and wanted to double-check. So I went to the morgue to test my hypothesis by having another look at Ros’s body.”</p><p>Jaime furrows his eyebrows upon hearing that. “Don’t they have closing hours?”</p><p>“I asked Mr. Pycelle for a separate key – after seeking approval from Mr. Baratheon, of course.”</p><p>“<em>Of course</em>.” Jaime rolls his eyes. He really should have known. “Everything according to protocol, aye?”</p><p>“Naturally.”</p><p><em>Naturally</em>. Oh, how easy life must be if you only ever stick to the matrices of the rules made for you, so you don’t have to think of the weight of the consequences of your choices. Decision-making becomes the easiest of tasks when you just follow the rules, obey them, pray to them, cherish them like little gods. It speaks you free of all responsibility. Because you were just following the rules. How are you to blame for doing as you were told?</p><p>
  <em>But what if the rules no longer apply, hm? What do you do when it’s either shooting a guy who’s been sitting on green fire or letting him drop the match and jinx it? What do you do when your rules don’t tell you what’s the right thing to do when both paths are wrong? What do you do then, naturally?</em>
</p><p>“Fuck. I need to take a piss,” Jaime announces, feeling a sudden tightness in his belly. He stands up and wades through the darkness into his <em>en suite</em> bathroom, not bothering to switch on the lights.</p><p>“Shall I call back later?” the Silent Sister asks. Jaime can picture her affronted expression, the way her lips curl as she huffs and puffs, which may be about the only amusing thing about this situation just now.</p><p>“No, no, keep talking. I can multitask. And for taking a piss, I only need one hand free,” he replies, grinning, tasting salt on his lips. He lifts the toilet lid with his foot, making sure that she hears it on the other end of the line.</p><p>“I suppose I really should’ve waited,” the Sister grumbles.</p><p>With one hand, Jaime pulls down his boxer shorts a bit and takes his cock in hand.</p><p>“Now you’ve woken me from my wet dreams, so you gotta live with the consequences of it, Sister,” he tells her, letting it flow, and finding more than small satisfaction not just in relieving himself but burdening her with utter discomfort.</p><p>“You are seriously…,” she mutters. He can hear the blush through the phone, which makes his grin spread even wider.</p><p>“What do you expect when you call a guy in the middle of the night?” he huffs. “You can count yourself lucky I wasn’t busy visiting Rosy Palms and her five sisters as you called. Either way, go on talking, Sister. Helps me clear the head <em>and</em> the bladder.”</p><p>Her pause is oh too delicious before she winds up saying primly, “… I looked closer at the ropes from which Ros was hung up with.”</p><p>“Hm. And I bet you found something <em>totally</em> interesting.”</p><p>“All ropes had a kind of hook at the end to hold it in place.”</p><p>“<em>Shocking</em>.”</p><p>This better be getting better soon, or else, Jaime may reconsider on becoming the murderer people accuse him to be ever since that damned incident.</p><p>“One looked different, though. It looked more like a capital T than a hook. Like a small hammer,” she goes on.</p><p>Jaime rolls his shoulders to ease some of the tension out of them. “Maybe the guy ran out of money and had to use something else.”</p><p>“The hammer is most commonly associated with the Smith.”</p><p>“I repeat: Shocking,” he huffs, pulling up his briefs now that he is done.</p><p>“Which matches the juxtaposition of the Smith and Mr. Yarwick as an architect who used illegal practices to maximize his profit. Thus, the hammer was selected to give us a clue about what God to look for next. And that was Mr. Yarwick. But because her body was moved, the message was lost,” the Sister continues, surely overly proud of herself for having made that connection.</p><p>Jaime closes the lid of the toilet with an audible thud before proceeding to the basin.</p><p>“Which is all very valuable information surely, but you tell me, Sister: Does that help us figure out what the guy is going after next?” he asks drily, opening the faucet. “Except for it being some kind of representation of one of the remaining five Seven?”</p><p>“It may help us figure out a pattern.”</p><p>Jaime lets the cool water run down his free wrist. “<em>Right</em>, but here is something you also have to understand: while the guy was an ass, you should be focusing on our latest victim foremost. If what you say is true, we should focus our efforts on finding out what clue he may have been given before his death. Though then again, it’s kind of a lost cause most likely.”</p><p>Yarwick was an ass. And out of the two, Jaime also feels more sympathy for the girl than for this piece of dirt. But in an investigation, you can’t hold on to your darlings. Be it theories, hypotheses, or dead bodies, really. You have to set priorities.</p><p>
  <em>And that woman clearly has them all wrong just to stay right. And isn’t that telling?</em>
</p><p>“Why so?” she asks, no, demands.</p><p>“Because a clue to any of the Seven could mean anyone and anything. The Maiden may also have related to a school girl, a virgin, even a septa or Silent Sister. The Smith may have related to an architect the same way it may have related to an actual smith, or a construction worker, or a guy working in a metal factory, or a guy who likes to chop wood with an axe, or someone who has a fetish for hammers.”</p><p>“The point being?”</p><p>“<em>The point being</em> that while this is all good and necessary information, you should not get too excited about it. While some murderers enjoy the thrill of the game by leaving clues, they won’t give anything away that will prevent further murders, at least that kind doesn’t. Because that guy, at the very least, plans seven murders. And for the message to be complete, he won’t stop and won’t be stopped before that is achieved. Some want to be stopped. That guy doesn’t want to be stopped. He wants to be seen. He wants to get his message out there, twisted as it may be.”</p><p>She sighs on the other end of the line, sounding both annoyed and defeated. “In short, I should have waited for you to come by.”</p><p>“In short, yeah. And not to get your hopes up too high over a nugget of information. Since you are awake now and surely want to go on, I suggest you poke at the architect another time,” Jaime tells her, now almost mildly. “Maybe the coroner and you missed something that may point to the next of the Seven.”</p><p>“I thought that didn’t matter,” she huffs.</p><p>Jaime rolls his eyes. Why does he even bother being mild with her? That woman is as thick as a wall when it comes to these things.</p><p>“It <em>does</em> matter, but it doesn’t matter as much as you probably think it does. Sorry to break it to you.”</p><p>“Alright, I just wanted to let you know.”</p><p>“Much appreciated, Sister. I bet I am either going to receive a phone call while I take a shit or otherwise will see you at the department,” Jaime says, closing the faucet. “For now, I’d like to try to sleep a few hours more. If this day is gonna be any less of a drag as the last one was, I would surely be surprised.”</p><p>“I shall await your assessment.”</p><p>He walks back over to his bed. “I stopped listening after I heard ‘I shall await your ass’, to be honest.”</p><p>“I wish you a good night, Detective. I apologize another time for having disturbed you at that hour. I should have waited,” she says, and it sounds almost believable. “It was thoughtless of me.”</p><p>“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Sister,” he chuckles, but then a more wicked grin cracks across his face, almost splitting it in two. “Though it makes me wonder, of course.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“Did you get so restless after scratching the itch that you just had to dive into work?” he laughs. “Or did you start fantasizing about me?”</p><p>“Good night, Detective.”</p><p>“Right. Night night.”</p><p>He goes on laughing as she hangs up on him. Jaime switches the phone off and tosses it onto the bed before flopping down himself. The detective pulls the white covers over his head and closes his eyes, hoping for darkness to spread, for darkness to stay.</p><p>But then he sees green flames spark up behind his eyelids. He can hear screams and cracking bones as they are cooked in green fires.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><hr/><p>Brienne sighs, reading through the reports again.</p><p>While the detective <em>certainly</em> didn’t have any point at all when he told her last night about how she is overestimating herself, Brienne tends to think that she allowed herself to get carried away too far.</p><p>And she can’t decide which is worse.</p><p>Because getting carried away may have led to her missing an important detail, an important truth that lay bare in front of her, had Brienne not relied on anyone but herself to make the assessment. And that even though she learned throughout her life that she cannot trust anyone but herself when it comes to these matters.</p><p>
  <em>Or most other matters, too.</em>
</p><p>Because to most people, promises are just words spoken, not even worth forgiveness, let alone redemption when the promise is betrayed. Oaths don’t matter to the vast majority either. People say you can rely on them, but they are no there when you need them. They will say your secrets are safe with them, though they leave the doors unlocked for anyone to see. People have no trouble taking the vow of marriage only to further their economic interest.</p><p>
  <em>They promise to be your partner, keep you safe, and then they tell you that they will teach you your place in the world.</em>
</p><p>Yet, here she is, knowing this, and she still dared to rely on truths someone else gave without checking them as she normally would have done. Because Brienne wanted to see the man who employed Ros. Because she wanted to be out there, tell the girl’s story, and help to keep people like her safe. Brienne let herself be coaxed into a tug-o-war to prove to the detective that she was capable, that she could handle this.</p><p><em>But this isn’t about me</em>, Brienne reminds herself, finding it a small stab in her stomach that she even has to. <em>This is about them. This is about the dead and their stories. </em></p><p>The time will come that this will be her only purpose in life until her own life ends. But if she fails already now, how can she make that promise and mean it?</p><p>The detective isn’t right by telling her that she shouldn’t have any part in the investigation, but Brienne had to realize that she came threateningly close to putting the investigation before the people whose stories she wants to tell, whose truths she wants to uncover from their flesh and bone so it may never be forgotten.</p><p>And Brienne nearly missed something because she let herself be distracted by the detective’s taunts. She let herself be distracted by her fury over the brothel owner and how no one seems to bother to care to stop him. She let herself be distracted by the detective’s parting words. And all that to wake up after an hour and feel cold dread clutching at her heart for not having answered the call of the dead.</p><p>
  <em>And now this.</em>
</p><p>Brienne rubs her stinging eyes before looking at the same paragraph yet again, making sure, <em>absolutely sure</em>, that all of it is correct this time. Because it is the story of her life that relying on second-hand information always undermined her best efforts – and she vowed to herself not to let that happen again.</p><p>
  <em>And to me, those promises matter.</em>
</p><p>Brienne whips her head around when she can hear footsteps echoing down the hallways. Brienne clutches her pendant, screwing her eyes shut.</p><p>
  <em>Crone, guide me. Don’t let me walk off my path again, I am begging you.</em>
</p><p>When she hears the door opening, Brienne lets go of her pendant and sticks her nose back into the report, trying to act as though she didn’t hear anyone approaching.</p><p>“Damn, you seriously <em>are</em> still here,” the detective huffs, coming inside with a swagger in his steps, a carelessness that puts her right on edge upon seeing him. “I really gotta learn how you can still be functional on only prayers and two hours of sleep. Maybe that can get even the atheist to pray.”</p><p>“Prayers don’t give super powers,” Brienne sighs.</p><p>“Disappointing,” he snorts, looking around, clipping with his tongue. “All the more reason for me to remain an atheist. Anyway. Good morning.”</p><p>“Seven blessings to you,” she answers, looking up, only for her eyes to wide. “You didn’t sincerely bring a sandwich down here.”</p><p>“If it makes you feel better, we can pretend it to be imaginary, but the plain facts are: humans need food to survive. I am human, though most believe me to be a monster, thus I need food to survive. And the dead won’t mind – and if they do, we have definitely more trouble on our hands than my not-so imaginary sandwich,” the detective replies, laughing.</p><p>Brienne’s fingers curl into tight fists. She can understand that he has little care to give for the dead, but he needn’t defile them with such acts of carelessness. Even this man should have that bit of respect for the dead left inside him, shouldn’t he?</p><p>
  <em>How can someone be so dedicated to his work and yet show so little respect for it?</em>
</p><p>“Don’t you find that tasteless?” Brienne hisses in a low voice, but he just shrugs his shoulders at her, nonchalance pouring out of his every move. “The sandwiches from the shop down the road are mostly alright. I have a spare if you also turn out to be a person in need of sleep and or food.”</p><p>“No, thank you. Most kind of you. I am afraid I must pass,” Brienne replies, barely moving her lips apart.</p><p>And such a man she requested repeatedly to hold a lecture at the convent.</p><p>And such a man she wanted to meet in person to learn from him.</p><p>
  <em>And such a man I wanted to ask about…</em>
</p><p>“Suit yourself, then.” The detective shrugs his shoulders before he hops on an empty table, starting to dig into his breakfast like a lion into an antelope. “You don’t look at all too pleased. Pissed, even. And not just coz of my sandwich. Ah damn, they forgot the bacon.”</p><p>Brienne shakes her head, blowing out air through her nostrils. None of it should matter. The people lying on those tables do. She doesn’t. And he doesn’t either.</p><p>“… I went back over Mr. Yarwick’s case and his body to search for further clues, now with the knowledge of what we found out about Ros,” Brienne says, putting the report down.</p><p>“But you found nothing?” he snorts.</p><p>“No, I found something,” Brienne answers, walking up to one of the tables where she laid out the truths she almost missed. “A gold dragon.”</p><p>A truth she should have seen but closed her eyes to because she dared to rely, dared to trust, to get herself the time to do things that shouldn’t concern her as much as they do.</p><p>But now it’s in the records, now it’s part of the story, so it won’t be forgotten.</p><p>“As in… flying nuke-reptile spewing fire made of gold or the coin?” he asks.</p><p>Brienne grimaces. “The coin.”</p><p>“The flying reptile would have been marginally more entertaining, damn,” the detective huffs, taking another bite from his sandwich, munching on it idly and loudly, surely to drive her even madder. “Anyway, maybe Yarwick collected these? He seemed to fancy money.”</p><p>“Maybe he did, but this one was stuck between his skull and the skin of his head,” Brienne informs him.</p><p>
  <em>And how could I have missed that?</em>
</p><p>“That adds a whole new level to not being able to get something out of your head,” he snorts. “Any idea how the coin relates to the Seven? I don’t remember that from the book?”</p><p>Brienne’s eyes briefly wander over to the detective, dangling his legs like a child, chewing on his sandwich without bacon. She fully expected him to laugh at her for not having seen that sooner. To miss a bloody coin inside someone’s head – as a pathologist no less. It is a travesty. Yet, he seems idly focused on his sandwich instead of her – or her mistakes.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe it’s for the better like that.</em>
</p><p>“The coin relates less to the Seven and more to the Faith Militant uprising,” Brienne informs him. “At least there is more evidence to back up that connection.”</p><p>“Faith Militant uprising sounds oddly familiar from history lessons I slept through back in high school. Back when I still could,” he snorts, leaning his head back. “Damn, I miss these days.”</p><p>“Starting with the outbreak of the Faith Militant uprising in 41 AC –,” she begins, but he cuts her off, “The short version, please. I don’t have enough caffeine in my veins yet to suffer through an early bird history lesson.”</p><p>Brienne exhales, closing her eyes. For a man whose talents lie in catching all details, he still can’t seem to be bothered to see that the history of the Faith is more than some history lesson he slept through. Which has her wonder just why he keeps her around and why he took her along on two occasions. What all his praise means.</p><p>Is it all just smoke in the end? Smoke from a gun he already fired and she just didn’t feel the hit yet?</p><p>
  <em>But it doesn’t matter. It cannot matter. </em>
</p><p>“… Towards the end of the Faith Militant uprising, the newly elected High Septon disbanded a group of theirs known as the Stars and Stripes, an executive branch of the Faith Militant. King Maegor granted surviving members a year to surrender their weapons and give up their rebellion,” Brienne goes on to explain. “After the year was over, those who remained defiant had a bounty placed on their heads. A gold dragon for the head of any Warrior’s Son, and a silver stag for the scalp of each Poor Fellow.”</p><p>“While the guy surely was a poor fellow for how he died, that would make him a warrior’s son. The Warrior, hm.” He taps his free hand against his chin pensively.</p><p>She nods her head. “Precisely. The next target should in some way relate to the Warrior.”</p><p>“Which is not at all bad news for us,” the detective hums, taking another bite. “I thought you’d be rubbing that under my nose for the rest of the day to prove to me just how valuable you are. And what a good student that makes you.”</p><p>“I am rather frustrated that I didn’t catch that during my initial investigation,” Brienne admits. “I should have caught that. But I relied on the coroner’s report too much instead of checking for myself.”</p><p>And she let herself be distracted by the man now smirking at her all too easily, the man who can lie to your face without batting an eye.</p><p>“Well, the coroner missed it, too. So no need to get a twist in your panties, Sister,” he teases. “I mean, <em>if</em> you wear panties. I don’t know if you have a chastity belt down there after all.”</p><p>It is during moments such as these that she’d like to yell at him to make him understand just how little he understands, but it is futile, without consequence. Brienne knows this, and yet, she feels the urge to make him see, make him comprehend that what he takes to be truth is not at all truth.</p><p>Because that is a lesson she learned and continues to learn every day, just like this day proved it to her yet again.</p><p>Truth only lies with those who can no longer lie and deceive.</p><p>And so, promises to tell their stories seem like the only oaths one can take without a doubt.</p><p>“… I phoned the coroner after I found the coin,” Brienne continues, ignoring his comments about her chastity for both their good. “He cleared the area with his staff another time and found the remains of the stag bill I was hoping they could recover. No such luck there either. It is only two circled numbers on the serial number. Well, that and the coin.”</p><p>“So you are sad that your hypothesis was wrong?” he sniggers. “Boo-hoo.”</p><p>“I was rather sure of it,” Brienne sighs, shaking her head.</p><p>She was too sure of too many things. And that even though Brienne knows that she can only be sure of the truths the dead do tell. She knows that she can’t be sure of anything other than these truths and the surety that the Seven are there with her.</p><p>But a part of her wanted to be right, wanted to bring a vital clue that may keep someone out of the morgue, away from her as the sole storyteller. For once, she wanted to prevent the truth of everyone’s existence instead of being its silent witness.</p><p>
  <em>But where does it take me? Will it make me betray my oaths?</em>
</p><p>“Well, you can never be sure with people. The issue is that humans may have founded the concept of rationality, but they are not rational,” the detective tells her nonchalantly. “Maybe the murderer just wanted to confuse us, send us on the wrong track. Maybe he wants to tell us something about himself. Maybe it was just coincidence. We have to consider everything, but we can’t get too attached to one single hypothesis just to be right. Because this is not about being right or wrong, this is about catching a murderer before more people die.”</p><p>“I understand that,” Brienne answers. <em>Of course</em> she understands. She is acutely aware that this is very different from her studies. That is the entire point of her being here, putting up with that man’s attitude and lack of tact.</p><p>Why can’t he see it? Or even if he does, why does he pretend to be blind to it?</p><p>
  <em>And why do I care?</em>
</p><p>“You are just a sore loser,” he laughs. She doesn’t. “I really thought I was on the right track with this.”</p><p>Brienne hoped, prayed even, that this would move them in the right direction, ahead of the murderer to prevent another job for her on the table. She prayed to the Crone to guide her. She looked at the statue’s face, looking for guidance. And yet, she seems to tread in darkness.</p><p>The detective shrugs. “Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. You have to tone down your expectations, Sister.”</p><p>“I don’t believe I do,” she argues. “I intend to give my best at all times.”</p><p>The matter of fact was that Brienne didn’t meet her own expectations. She didn’t meet her standards by relying on information instead of making sure for herself. She expected better of herself, and so she failed.</p><p>
  <em>Again. </em>
</p><p>People who go on about lowering expectations, to her mind, just do a poor job concealing that they can’t be bothered to give more than they do – because they have more to give but just don’t care to try.</p><p>“And no less do you expect from everyone else around you, which always gives you the higher moral ground in every argument you ever had,” the detective scoffs, visibly pleased with his assessment of her. “Because you can always go on about how people disappointed your way too high expectations. Effective tactic, that is. No less annoying, though.”</p><p>“It is no tactic,” she insists. “I don’t see any opposition to strive for the best version of ourselves.”</p><p>For Brienne, it is the only alternative now. Any other version of herself proved to be failure. Failure to her father. Failure to the people who relied on her to do better. Failure to the boy whose story she is so desperate to bring to light. Failure to herself and to the lives she could have lived, had she been a better version of herself.</p><p>She is ugly, mannish, too stubborn at times, too trusting, too blind to peoples’ schemes, to their inner workings that don’t run in flesh and blood. There are certainly even greater errors in her character, Brienne won’t deny it. But if her faults forced any kind of truth upon her, then it is that the only thing she can affect are her actions. Not how she looks. Not who she is. Not how others perceive her. But if her actions define her, if that is the only thing she is reduced to, and if she excels at that, then her unchangeable shortcomings no longer matter. They will fade behind gray robes and people sniggering behind her back.</p><p>And so, she always has to not only try to give her best, she always has to striver for the better. Or else, her actions will be tarnished by the flaws in her character. And truths that are much more important than the truths about herself will fade into nothingness. But Brienne won’t stand for it.</p><p>And frankly, she can’t stand people who rely at all too much on people expecting less of them, so that they do not have to commit, do not have to try to be better.</p><p>One of the greatest sins in the world, to her mind, is a lack of care, a lack of commitment to do what is possible, all the while daring to strive for what may seem impossible upon first glance.</p><p>But looking at the man in front of her, eating his sandwich right next to the dead, complaining about a lack of bacon, with no air of care left in him, Brienne can’t help but think that maybe the world is past the point to care already.</p><p>
  <em>Which is why I pray for them all, even for a man like this who could not care less.</em>
</p><p>“I see quite a bit of opposition to always expecting people to behave their best. Because people sometimes need to have a bit of a treat of just… sucking at what they do,” the detective argues. “And anyway, some person’s seventy percent would be close to one hundred for another. It’s always a matter of perspective.”</p><p>Brienne shakes her head. “I don’t believe my standards are the matter of debate right now, are they?”</p><p>“Nah, it’s not interesting to talk about anyway. You won’t change your stubborn mind even if the Seven themselves told you to chill,” he huffs, brushing his fingers over the corners of his mouth to catch some of the grease that gathered there.</p><p>She watches him hop back to his feet to inspect the coin laid out on the other table. It takes every ounce of strength out of her not to say anything as he leans over, sandwich still in his mouth, to fish out his phone and take some pictures the same way you would of a tourist site.</p><p>Once the detective seems satisfied, he starts to fiddle with his phone to type out a text message.</p><p>“What are you doing, if I may ask?” Brienne wants to know.</p><p>“You would ask even if you may not. Because you already did,” he snorts. “Anywho, I am sending that to my brother. He has many friends or rather… <em>acquaintances</em>… he can call in for a favor. I think the only actual friend he has is me, which is pitiful enough for the both of us. Either way, maybe someone can tell me more about the coin. I want to know if it’s a rare item. It looks kind of antique. If it is a rare item, we may get some kind of lead from who sold it last.”</p><p>“Do you find it wise to just send around this information without consulting with your superiors first? I thought that procedures involving outside parties…,” Brienne mutters, her voice trailing off.</p><p>She understands that this man is not keen on sticking to rules, but it is a rule that seems sensible to her. People talk. People reveal more than they should. And that may put the investigation at risk. Thus, seeking approval seems natural to her.</p><p>The detective looks up, his facial expressions instantly changing to something much darker. “You think I have any intention to consult Robert on anything? I don’t ask for permission to do my job.”</p><p>“I just understood that protocol would demand…”</p><p>“<em>Protocol</em> demands I solve the case before the murderer can strike again,” he retorts. “I mean, of course I can slide into Robert’s office on both my knees and kiss his fat, stinking ass to ask him to please let me send this picture of a fuckin’ coin to my brother <em>who is in law enforcement</em> so to have a coin expert look at it. But you tell me, is that really practical?”</p><p>“I just meant to say…,” she tries to reply, but he won’t let her finish, “You just meant to say that, overall, you don’t agree with my methods, but chose to make an example of this small detail.”</p><p>“That’s not…,” Brienne insists, but he just won’t back down, “Right, I bet those two are dying to listen to your lecture, but I am not. I need to go over the new evidence, so I will be heading up to my office. I hope you understand I need a bit of <em>silence</em> for that.”</p><p>“I don’t tend to be too talkative as a member of the convent of the Silent Sisters,” Brienne huffs.</p><p>“Yeah, but your stares are so loud in their judgment that you might just as well drag your fingernails over a blackboard the whole damn time. I don’t have the nerve for that. I am not even on my second sandwich or first coffee. I suggest you clear your head a bit, get some fresh air… or not. And you can use the time to get over your own frustration for not having thought of a coin inside a dead guy’s head. Because frankly, I don’t care to suffer through you lamenting about that. We have bigger issues here than anyone’s ego,” he grumbles, stuffing his sandwich back into the paper bag.</p><p>Brienne folds her arms over her chest. “On that much we agree, Detective.”</p><p>“Splendid,” he chimes, smiling at her in the fakest of ways. “Catch you later.”</p><p>With that, he disappears down the dark hallways leading up to his office. Brienne lets out a shuddered breath she didn’t realize she was holding this whole time. She grimaces as she can feel her eyes sting.</p><p><em>Don’t let them see your tears. They are not worth it</em>, Brienne reminds herself. And the detective is most certainly not either.</p><p>Brienne looks down her arms, realizing only now how tightly she is clutching her forearm, which is blue and purple in some places from where the drunkard grabbed her last night. Brienne digs her fingernails into that ache one more time before letting it all go again. She walks back over to the table on which truth lies, waiting for her to find it, document it, preserve it, tell it as it is.</p><p>She reaches into her pocket to put her headphones back in.</p><p>After all, Brienne has work to do.</p><p>A promise to keep.</p><p>And this time, there will be no blind spots, no errors.</p><p>Just truth. Because that is all that matters.</p><hr/><p>Jaime sighs, sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking at his wall of madness. It is a culmination of evidence that tends to help him connect some dots. Though sadly, its magic seems to play hard-to-get. There is just something about this case that doesn’t make sense. Jaime just can’t put his finger on it yet.</p><p><em>Maybe it’s the septa</em>, he muses. Then again, she <em>does</em> make a lot of sense. Analytical to no end but blind to the chaos that reality tends to be. Jaime is really not looking forward to having a copy of a new dissertation forwarded to him a few months after this whole mess is dealt with.</p><p>
  <em>Or maybe I have my resignation letter forwarded to me, if she turns out to be the snitch I think she can very well aspire to be.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck it,” Jaime grunts, leaning his head back, staring into the light of the lamp above his head. He is tired and his muscles ache and his wall of madness isn’t speaking to him, only ever driving him closer to the edge of true madness.</p><p>
  <em>When every day is fuckin’ Monday for you – fuckin’ story of my life.</em>
</p><p>He runs his fingers through his hair.</p><p>
  <em>Ring-ring.</em>
</p><p>Jaime reaches into his pocket, eyes still focused on his wall of madness as he picks up. “Hi. What you got for me?”</p><p>“Good day to you, too, brother dear.”</p><p>“Damn, since when is everyone so insistent on some arbitrary rules of formality?” Jaime huffs.</p><p>“Ah, I see that your mood has not much improved since we last spoke,” Tyrion snorts.</p><p>“Unless you have something for me,” Jaime hums. “In that case, you can watch the rainbow shoot out of my ass.”</p><p>“If you are talking about the coin, I will have to disappoint you. I forwarded this to a friend of mine who is a collector, but the guy is an odd bird and will take his time. Don’t expect an answer even when you tell him it’s urgent,” the younger man informs him.</p><p>Jaime sighs. “Awesome.”</p><p>“But I <em>was</em> able to get some info on your Silent Sister. Care to hear or do you want me to call you about that later?”</p><p>Jaime sighs up straighter. “No, no, go ahead. I stared at my wall of madness for the past thirty minutes with the only result being a massive headache. I welcome a good distraction.”</p><p>“I don’t know if it’s a <em>good</em> distraction.”</p><p>“Anything to get rid of the problem will do the trick for me,” Jaime replies.</p><p>“Damn, you really are eager to get her out of your territory,” his brother huffs, probably shaking his head.</p><p>Of course, to him that must all seem like he is being petty. And Jaime doesn’t say that no small part of him is driven by petty and spite, but the woman just proves to be a not at all welcome distraction. And if he is right about her – and Jaime tends to be right about people – she will continue to make his work difficult.</p><p>And if it’s more difficult than it is anyway, people die. That’s the bottom line. And Jaime cannot afford to reach that rock-bottom. Or else he might just as well waltz into Robert’s office right now and resign by himself.</p><p>He can’t hesitate, he mustn’t. He only has himself to rely on, and that has to be enough.</p><p>“Like you can’t imagine. Helpful as it may be, I don’t need people to sniff at me before taking a piss at me all the same,” Jaime says.</p><p>He had that with Ned, so Jaime doesn’t need revisiting.</p><p>“I will send you a mail with the info right after the call is over,” Tyrion tells him.</p><p>“Highlights?”</p><p>“She may not look the part, but she is quite the scandal around the Stormlands.”</p><p>Jaime frowns. “<em>Scandal</em> is not the word I’d associate with her. And I thought we had enough scandal on our hands with the whole damned Baratheon clan: Robert the whoremonger, Renly who married a girl to keep face even though he was gay since his first namesday, and Stannis who, despite being a judge now aiming for politics, still can’t stand it that Renly runs the family business. And that’s not to mention the whole tragedy involving the kid. So how would the Silent Sister contend for the title of <em>Stormland’s Most Scandalous</em>? And perhaps just as importantly, how did I not find that during my own research?”</p><p>“The internet may never forget, but seven years is an eternity in internet time. Plus, her name does not appear in the yellow press. That’s why your search probably winded up empty,” Tyrion informs him. “I only got the tip after I called someone I know who works in the Stormlands. As you said, her father is a big gun around there. While he couldn’t stop things going public, he surely had enough influence to keep her name out of it. Though I don’t assume that this helped her keep face.”</p><p>“What did she do, then? Lecture someone to death? Crush someone with her iron fist of justice and honor?”</p><p>“She apparently beat up her fiancé during the engagement party. And by that I mean really beat up. He was in hospital. Broken ribs and all. A lot of people were there to witness it. Local high society and business partners. It was the top story in local news for weeks.”</p><p>Jaime furrows his eyebrows at that. “Damn, I definitely didn’t think the woman ever once dated in her entire life.”</p><p>Though he will stand by it that she may very well still be a virgin. Nonetheless, it certainly sheds some light on not just her uptightness but also what Jaime can only identify as an inherent mistrust in any person with a penis.</p><p>
  <em>And it certainly explains why she is balling her fists that much. Doesn’t want to repeat the end to that engagement and end up in the yellow press again, hm?</em>
</p><p>Though Jaime can somewhat relate to that. He doesn’t fancy it either, to have stories written about him without ever being consulted. It sucks, but he stopped to care long time ago. Maybe she will learn that lesson eventually, too.</p><p>“What? You think she was hatched to be a Silent Sister?” his younger brother chuckles.</p><p>“Something like that. She definitely doesn’t strike me as… ordinary, so maybe she popped out of an egg, who knows?” Jaime replies, shrugging his shoulders.</p><p>“Well, she is certainly no ordinary woman, judging by what I gathered. The fiancé was <em>at least</em> twice her age. They didn’t officially date long enough for the yellow press to make news about it. After all, her dad is quite the celeb around the Stormlands, as you yourself already figured out. They only knew one another through business dealings at her father’s company. And shortly after, there was an engagement. And just as shortly after, there was an end to that engagement.”</p><p>“Sounds fun,” Jaime comments. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Not so much a highlight as a sad background story. Mother died in childbed. Her two sisters never left the cradle. And her older brother drowned when she was still very young. I didn’t get much from the report I could get my hands on, since it involves the death of a child and all, but what I know from the fellow attorney in the Stormlands is that it was a big fuss. The father first pushed for an investigation but then withdrew all of a sudden. I guess that tells <em>you</em> more than you need to know.”</p><p>“It tells me a whole lot. So thank you,” Jaime answers, nodding his head slowly. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Off-topic, but there’s apparently a big fuss in our family going on, too.”</p><p>“<em>Gasp</em>,” Jaime huffs. You have better chances asking when there isn’t one in his damned clan. “How do you know anyway?”</p><p>After all, it wasn’t just Jaime who decided to break with the family. Tyrion used to run the legal side of the family company until his brother’s trial came along and his Tyrion became his attorney – and won Jaime his freedom, whatever it was worth.</p><p>When Jaime told their father that he wouldn’t become the long-lost son, Tyrion had his one hope crushed that his father may see his worth, now that his beloved firstborn was suddenly on the naughty list. But don’t count on Tywin Lannister for that. He told Tyrion in as many words as necessary that he’d rather die than have his youngest son inherit the family company. <em>A total charmer, that one.</em> And it was that day that Tyrion Lannister opened up his own legal practice in King’s Landing and never returned to the Rock again.</p><p>“I talked to Genna this morning,” his younger brother informs him. “By the way, she expects you to call her some time. And I am tired of having to tell you that as she is tired of having to tell me that.”</p><p>“I will surely forget, but you two will keep reminding me. Anyway, so what is the fuss about? Did dad finally bust a nut in anger? Is there video footage of it? Can I download it somewhere?”</p><p>“Not yet, no. Fingers crossed, though,” Tyrion sniggers. “Apparently, there is more to the rumors about our dear sister and our dear cousin than just rumors.”</p><p>“Ah fuck,” Jaime sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He really hoped to be wrong on that one, he did.</p><p>
  <em>But sadly, I tend to be right about just how fucked up people are. Comes with the job, I guess.</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, they probably did that, too.” Jaime can hear the grimace on the other end of the line.</p><p>The two had been joking about it some time back, drinking beers like they do probably too often. While both broke with the family, the brothers obviously got involved to some degree when the war of the roses broke out between Cersei and Robert. There was no way one couldn’t notice how, all of a sudden, Lancel followed her every step like an obedient puppy, only to get hit in the nose with a newspaper when he didn’t live up to Cersei’s constantly changing expectations. He did whatever errand job she wanted of him and sniffed around for information she could use to take him out in the negotiations over who gets which summer residence. But it was never enough, <em>of course</em>.</p><p>Jaime had a bad feeling that this wasn’t just a teenager trying to up his game in the family company to maybe earn himself a promotion, but that his sister was indeed using the “weapons of a woman” – <em>whatever those are</em> – to ensure that Lancel would indeed kiss the ground she walked upon. Though Jaime dared to hope that even his sister wouldn’t sink that low to jump into bed with an underage cousin.</p><p>
  <em>But Cersei Lannister always finds a way to surprise you with just how far she’d go to see her goal achieved.</em>
</p><p>“And how do we know that for certain now?” Jaime wants to know.</p><p>“Genna was there to witness it and she told me all about it. It was a shit show. Lancel had a fallout with Uncle Kevan about leading the sub branch at Darry. He told his father that there would be no way he’d join this <em>amoral business</em>. And as this happened to be a family meeting with our father and sister as well, our dear Lancel then dropped the bomb that he’s slept with his own cousin. Imagine dad’s face. Then Cersei’s. Then proceed to laugh.”</p><p>Jaime chews on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t find it that funny, really. Speaking as the detective, I gotta say he was definitely not eighteen by the time he was her protégé – and apparently more than that. Speaking as the behavioral analyst, I gotta say that this can do a lot of damage on a young man’s psyche.”</p><p>Couple that with the car accident Lancel had and you got a really bad bingo right there. Because there was one woman who did not bother show up at the rehab center as he recovered from his injuries and was on pain meds for quite a long time. And that doesn’t even begin to mention the fact that he’d been in that car only just to do her bidding to do some errand job again.</p><p>
  <em>She could have sent at least fuckin’ flowers.</em>
</p><p>Cersei told her twin brother that much herself in her flippant kind of way, only ever voicing her disappointment how that “Lancel’s underperformance” may have cost her the victory over Robert in the war of the roses. She dropped Lancel like a hot potato, so it seems little surprising that their cousin would eventually lose it. Though Jaime dared to hope that Kevan’s attempts to make him date women of his age may have proven fruitful.</p><p>
  <em>So much to that. You can always count on our fucked-up family clan to fuck things up even more. Fuck. </em>
</p><p>“C’mon,” Tyrion huffs. “It’s not like she could’ve forced him if he didn’t want it a bit as well.”</p><p>“You have met our sister, yeah? She can force you and she will,” Jaime argues.</p><p>He didn’t always see it with such clarity, but ever since he was on the route of becoming a profiler, Jaime understood that his sister was not just a nut job but that her madness tends to make everyone crash who circles in her orbit, which is more of a black hole.</p><p>“Well, there is worse things to be forced into doing, I suppose,” Tyrion comments, sniggering. “I mean, not that I want to get anywhere near her in that way, but for a loser like our dear cousin, it probably was the best thing ever to be taken by an adult woman of Cersei’s caliber. Because you bet he was <em>not</em> the top in that sandwich.”</p><p>“Which probably was his initial motivation to go along with it, to be considered by someone like Cersei,” Jaime tells him, “but if his reaction is this extreme, Lancel didn’t go out of this mentally unscathed. I don’t imagine Cersei fell in love with him. If he believed that there was more than sex as means to an end, though, then it’s small wonder to me that he’s royally fucked up in the head now.”</p><p>Tyrion sighs at that. “Our dear sister understands very well to fuck shit up.”</p><p>“She has a talent for it. Sad thing is that she pulls down others alongside her…,” Jaime exhales.</p><p>“All the better that you got out of her orbit before you could get drawn into it,” the younger man points out. And Jaime couldn’t agree more. Really, the only-boys boarding school is the best thing that could have happened to him growing up. Or else he’d be fucked up for even more reasons than he is anyway.</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Jaime snorts. “Either way, where is Lancel at now, do you know?”</p><p>“Only the Seven will know,” Tyrion replies. “He kept going on about how they are all bad people and probably deserve to go to the Seven Hells. He stormed off and wasn’t seen since.”</p><p>“Well, say about the Lannister clan what you want, it never grows boring with our lot.” Jaime scratches the back of his head.</p><p>“Tell me about it.”</p><p>“Keep me posted on both matters,” Jaime adds in a more sincere tone.</p><p>Tyrion groans at that. “It’s <em>Lancel</em>, though.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Jaime quips. “Keep me updated and hear around for more information.”</p><p>Jaime has little hope that he can help the guy, as fucked-up as he is himself, but he dares to hope that maybe he can keep Lancel from doing something that he will come to regret later.</p><p>
  <em>Other than fucking his life up fucking his cousin, that is.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>. I will get back at you once I have something on the coin,” the younger man says. “I gotta head to court now. About to pester some brothel owners.”</p><p>Jaime grins. “You are a charm.”</p><p>“You bet I am. I am a damn treat. Catch you later.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>As if on cue, he can hear a knock on the door.</p><p>Jaime leans his head back. This was not the conversation he was looking forward right now.</p><p>“Come on in, Sister. I can hear your flat heels shuffling over the ground all the way in here, like a horse at a derby.”</p><p>The Silent Sister walks inside, looking oddly uncertain as she closes the door behind her. She takes small steps, seemingly not daring to take up too much space in his office. And the balled fists are right there with her at every step.</p><p>“Am I disturbing you?” she asks.</p><p>Jaime snorts at that. At least she seems to learn that this is a question she should ask herself before calling him up in the midst of the night, too. “It wouldn’t stop you even if I said yes. So? What can I do for you?”</p><p>“I just wanted to know if you found out anything you’d mean to share,” she answers, barely moving her lips apart as she speaks. “To maybe shed some light on how the victims died and why.”</p><p>“I am still waiting for information from my brother regarding the coin,” Jaime says. “So we are left with what we got for now.”</p><p>“Alright.” She keeps standing there, expecting more, her big blue eyes very much transfixed on his wall of madness. Jaime tries hard not to roll his eyes. If he doesn’t watch closely, she will probably reorder them all to neatly fit together, always at even angles.  </p><p>
  <em>But sometimes you have to let the chaos rage, Sister. Because people are chaos, straight-up messes. And some of those messes are not just beyond order, they are also beyond saving.</em>
</p><p>“… Is there anything new you could deduce from the crime scenes and such?” she questions when Jaime just lets her dangle in the silence like a fish on the hook.</p><p>“This murderer is a bit of an oddity.”</p><p>“Well, you did say that he likes the theatrics,” she points out.</p><p>Jaime shakes his head. “While movies and TV shows overrepresent the weirdos with the sick plans and mad murder constructions, they do happen every once in a while. I’ve seen that more often than anyone should have to. That’s not the thing. The guy is an oddity for a number of other reasons, and most of those reasons I can’t put my finger on, despite the evidence we already have with two victims to the count.”</p><p>Jaime only had that one other time throughout his career, and it cost him dearly, too much, in fact. And he fears that if he doesn’t change something about the situation very soon, he will burn even faster, until nothing remains of him to do what he has to do.</p><p>“Then what can you put your finger on?” the Silent Sister wants to know.</p><p>Jaime gestures at the wall of madness in front of him. “What I can tell for sure is that there seems to be a learning curve, as much more attention was paid to the details and the general preparation. At the same time, there is a total escalation when it comes to violence, which runs opposite the meticulous set-up. Yarwick was definitely overkill. Compared to that, Ros’s death was almost gentle.”</p><p>“What could be the reason for such different behaviors?” the Silent Sister asks.</p><p>Jaime rolls his shoulders. “There are a number of possibilities. Sadly, humans are rarely rational, I told you. Psychology is more often than not a gut feeling mingled with statistical evidence and yearlong experiences others gathered before in interviews. Profiling is no different there. So you can’t always expect a certain outcome and you can’t always trace things back to a single cause. Some may have some childhood trauma motivating them, others have some hormones and connections in the brain that are wrongly wired. Some developed a personality disorder. Others just don’t give a damn despite being fully functional and understanding very well what they are doing. Or because it is the only thing that gets them hard. Or because they just want to see people die.”</p><p>
  <em>Or burn.</em>
</p><p>“Then what reasons would you consider, based on what we have?” the Sister questions.</p><p>“Well, speaking as the murderer, I may not like violence against women and that is why I treated her differently from the asshole architect. It didn’t give me joy or satisfaction, but to my mind, it needed to be done,” Jaime points out, fully expecting the tight grimace pulling on the woman’s face.</p><p>“But he killed her and carved a seven-pointed star into her mound.”</p><p>“Yes, but going with the angle of redemption you proposed, I as the murderer wanted to help her. I wanted to save her from her sins. And for that, I had to punish her. For her sexuality, for using it as means to an end. That is no sexual motivation.”</p><p>The Silent Sister’s lips curl into an uncertain frown.</p><p>“For me as the murderer, this girl was filth. She defiled herself by selling her body to those nasty men. And so I didn’t want that filth on me. I didn’t touch her much at all. I wore gloves just so that I wouldn’t get that dirt on me. That’s like a germophobe having to touch a dirt sandwich on the road.”</p><p>“She wasn’t filthy,” the woman insists.</p><p>Jaime blows out air through his nostrils as he leans back.</p><p>“I don’t say that <em>I</em> find her filthy. I am saying that I <em>as the murderer</em> would have. That the murderer probably did. Or else he wouldn’t have acted the way he did,” Jaime tells her. “And that’s the lesson for you, Sister. Always remind yourself that when you create a profile of someone, you dive into that person’s mad world. And in that mad world, everything the murderer does makes sense. In that world, the girl was a bloody whore, a sinner that needed to be punished. In that world, the murderer saved her. You have to accept that so that you can start to analyze its origin and to where it may go.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>“You are a smart cookie after all,” he huffs. “Anyway. Yarwick is another story. Another world, though it’s supposedly the same fuckin’ guy. I mean, imagine: You murdered this girl, you waited your time for police, for the news to proclaim your message. But nothing happened. Your grand opening, no one picked it up or even left a voicemail. But you have a full pipeline. You have done your research, you arranged for everything, including the next victim. You spent many hours researching. You spent a lot of money for the killing spree up North.”</p><p>“Well, you said that Yarwick was an escalation when it came to the violence. Perhaps the murderer took out his frustration on the architect.”</p><p>Jaime grins at that. “Very good, and I bet that added to it, but there is another component there. If you are <em>that</em> frustrated, you tend to make more mistakes. You second-guess yourself. It didn’t work last time, what if it doesn’t this time either? But this guy? Got into Castle Black unawares, killed a guy and wasn’t seen for hours punching the flying shit out of him until he died pissing and shitting himself. Controlled his frustrations enough to place the stag bills – and a coin inside his fuckin’ head, apparently, as we learned today.”</p><p>She gives him a look. He ignores it.</p><p>“Also, this feels much more like a revenge act, like settling a score. Maybe for the guys who died thanks to Yarwick’s malpractices when it came to the construction of the tunnels. But that’s not the vibe I got from Ros,” Jaime ponders</p><p>“Then what <em>vibe</em> does it give you?”</p><p>“If I freeze a guy in place and break every fuckin’ bone in his body with a hammer, out in the freezing cold, I am a guy who does not hesitate, who does not mind getting his hands dirty. I have the stamina to do this for <em>hours</em>. Smash and smash and smash. I get satisfaction from hearing him scream and suffer and beg for mercy I know I won’t give. But even after I purified him with the sigil, I keep going and going and going. And yet, once the time is up, I drop my weapons and I pull it off perfectly – even though I didn’t do that before.”</p><p>She chews on her bottom lip. “And what does that tell you?”</p><p>“Not as much as I would want it to. If the connection with the signs wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have connected the murders,” Jaime tells her. “They have very different signatures otherwise. I mean, it’s possible it’s actually two people.”</p><p>“Partners in crime?” The Silent Sister blinks at him.</p><p>“It is rare, but it does happen. It would at least explain the different manners in which the victims were killed. And it would explain the largely different levels of violence involved. But since there are no traces that directly lead up to it, it’s just another theory to add to the list,” he sighs.</p><p>He scratches his beard pensively, studying the collage of images, drawings and notes with buzz words spread out on the wall to connect dots that won’t connect.</p><p>“The angle with the Seven and the Faith Militant tells us this one thing for sure, though: Religiously motivated crime based on the idea of punishment for supposed sins. That unites the two murders. Ros was a prostitute, a whore, the antithesis of the Maiden. Yarwick was an evil architect, the antithesis of the Smith. And a downright asshole no one liked. So it’s either that the murderer worked his way up in confidence or he makes a difference in crime to adjust the intensity of the punishment according to just how bad their sins are,” Jaime says. “No matter what, he feels entitled to murder them for whatever his cause is.”</p><p>“Unless it is indeed a pair.”</p><p>“If it is a pair, the latter one is definitely the more dominant part with more willingness and mental strength to pull it off.” He studies his notes again. “The guy – or maybe guys, but let’s stick to singular for now – is functioning enough to plan a murder, now two, in such detail. And likely has the other five worked out as well. He is intelligent enough to arrange for a girl with Littlefinger without leaving enough traces behind for Littlefinger to spew them at us to get his head out of the sling. He managed to pull off the invisible guest at one of the toughest places to hide at in Westeros. Such a person either never had a social life or bid farewell to it. The murderer has enough money to travel, pay for special treatment at Littlefinger’s brothel, and for the materials needed for the kills. Which won’t be cheap.”</p><p>“That almost sounds like praise,” she notes.</p><p>Jaime exhales wearily. “It is no praise, it is an assessment. This tells us at least something about the person or persons responsible. The fact that he leaves messages supports the idea of the murderer wanting to send a message out to the world. Like the coin or the hammer. It speaks of self-consciousness. The guy thinks he is untouchable and that we can’t catch him until he completed his plan. And that will not be until he murdered seven people in the name of the Seven at least.”</p><p>“Which means there are at the very least still five people we may save,” the Silent Sister points out. Jaime can only chuckle at that drily.</p><p>It’s nice to think that, really, maybe even pray for it, he assumes, but he is not holding his breath for it.</p><p>“Bold statement, but yeah. Unless, of course, the murderer got the taste for it by now and just wants to see the whole damn world go to the Seven Hells and beyond. Let’s just hope he doesn’t know how to get nukes.”</p><p>“I pray for it.”</p><p>“Much appreciated, because I definitely won’t,” Jaime snorts. “I rather try to keep guys from nuking than wait for the Seven to help. Didn’t work last time I checked.”</p><p>He prayed and prayed and prayed, muttered the words he thought he’d already forgotten to himself as he went through the sewers, only to realize that Gods that let a man like Aerys Targaryen continue as he did are not worth any prayers. Instead, they should be held accountable for not stopping this madness, for letting people burn.</p><p>The Silent Sister furrows her eyebrows upon hearing him say that. “I wouldn’t have thought you ever tried.”</p><p>Jaime laughs, then snarls at that. “Oh, I prayed very hard and nothing happened, Sister. But I guess I should have known better. In the eyes of the Seven I surely am a sinner, too.”</p><p>And he knows he is burning like one already. He knew it the moment he went down into that darkened tunnel. He knew it when he walked into the white light and felt it burn him. He embraced it that he wouldn’t be saved, that he’d damned himself, if only so that others wouldn’t burn with them.</p><p>“How do you come to that conclusion, Detective?”</p><p>“I bet you find me to be a sinner – and don’t you do it through the eyes of the Seven?” Jaime laughs, though he doesn’t find it funny at all.</p><p>“I don’t find you to be anything, I told you already. If you believe the Seven see some acts of yours as sin, it is between you and them how you want to deal with that,” she answers. And Jaime hates it how mighty the Silent Sister seems, saying these things.</p><p>“Which is your way of saying: you are beyond saving anyway. And I guess you are right,” he mutters, but then is quick to add with a faux smile, “So, Sister, did you have a nice chat with Robert?”</p><p>The way her eyes widen tell him that he is right.</p><p>“Why do you think I’ve spoken to him?” she asks anyway.</p><p>Jaime snorts. “I know you have spoken to him because you wouldn’t have asked that way had you not. You came down this way before you knocked on my door instead of straight from the morgue lying on the other side. And I smell his disgusting cologne all the way to here. The guy always uses so much of it that you need to wash after that to get rid of the stench.”</p><p>“He called me in,” the Silent Sister answers primly.</p><p>
  <em>And doesn't that sound oh so familiar? </em>
</p><p>“And did you snitch on me for not consulting him on the coin first or did you wait until he was finished talking?”</p><p>“I do not believe that I have to share with you what I talk to people about, Detective,” she says, and Jaime can see those pale fists balling already, telling him more than he needs to know.</p><p>“Oh, don’t feel obliged by any means, Sister.”</p><p>“If you must know, he let a detective come down to the morgue to ask me to speak to him once I found the time. I wouldn’t have raised the issue to him had he not specifically asked me about it, which yes, he did. Because you can believe me that much, Mr. Lannister, I will not lie for you.”</p><p>“You don’t strike me as being good enough at acting to attempt to try anyway. So?” Jaime retorts. “Don’t I get dessert for a week or what punishment has Bobby now chosen for me for being a naughty boy?”</p><p>“He sounded not too pleased but mentioned that he is used to this kind of behavior.”</p><p>“Most kind of him. The same way I ignore the secretaries who he only hires to blow him off under the table even when on business calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had one with her lipsticked mouth right around his limp cock as he talked to you,” Jaime huffs. “Only the Seven will know how he ever became the fuckin’ head of the department when all he can think about is how to get head in the fuckin’ department.”</p><p>“Interesting as it may be, I believe it is not vital to the case for me to know just what seems to be wrong in the department. I’d advise you to perhaps speak to authorities about those matters, but that is seemingly just me,” she points out, yet again climbing on that pedestal of righteousness, even though she already stands too damn tall as is.</p><p>And Jaime doesn't want to have think about those things, doesn’t want to get distracted by them, but it is distracting. It pulls him back to a past he wants to forget, away from a future he long since abandoned.</p><p>He’d like to tell her that authorities are just as corrupt and stupid as Robert is. That Ned Stark took a similar approach to get Jaime out of the office – and see how that worked out. He’d like to tell her that everything in this city is corrupt. That authorities dictating the rules are least likely to stick to them.</p><p>But what is the point? Jaime knows it won’t change her ways. He knows it won’t make her change perspective. Because she’d have to see things through the eyes of a sinner. And a virtuous woman like this one, Jaime is pretty sure, can hardly take it.</p><p>“I will write that down on a sticky note so that I won’t forget, Sister, rest assured.” Jaime smiles, feeling his teeth ache. “But I fear it will have to wait. Unless of course, you want to have that take precedence before the five people you yourself hope to save with the power of prayer or whatever.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that anyone will be saved by the power of prayer, but I agree that the investigation matters foremost,” she announces. “With the information you were so kind to provide, I will review the evidence another time.”</p><p>Jaime smiles even broader this time, though he nearly bites on his tongue saying that, well aware that this is going to sting. “Yeah, probably for the better. Maybe you find something else you missed before. Like the damned murder weapon or maybe the murderer’s address printed on the architect’s fuckin’ hand.”</p><p>The detective can see something falter inside her, can see it break to bits and pieces, and it gives him no satisfaction.</p><p>“… Thank you for sharing your insights with me,” is all she can bring herself to say, knuckles white, swallowing thickly.</p><p>“It’s a pleasure to feel like there are some things you don’t already know, Sister. Let me know once you want to impress me with your grand knowledge and virtue again. It will surely be a delight. Unless of course I now get called into Robert’s office as well to talk about how naughty I was. Maybe I get a proper spanking,” he continues anyway, ignoring the ache in his teeth as he smiles through it all. “Maybe you want to stick around to watch that. I don’t know if that’s a kink for you.”</p><p>“Until later, then.”</p><p>“All seven blessings to you, Sister.”</p><p>“And to you.”</p><p>With that, she bolts out the door. The smile falls off of him and he can feel his jaw throb dully. Still no satisfaction, no relief, and his world keeps spinning around things he knows he should best ignore. Jaime starts to spin in his office chair, welcoming the dizziness blurring out the rest of the world only giving him a massive headache.</p><p>As analytical as the Silent Sister is, as good as she is drawing conclusions even on thin evidence, Jaime really can’t have a snitch in his investigation, now seven-pointed star pendants and gray robes or not. He had that with Ned, and he surely won’t have it with her. He can’t afford it. Not on this case. Not ever.</p><p>Because if he loses it, at least five more are lost forever.</p><p>
  <em>And we’ll burn together.</em>
</p><p>Jaime logs into his computer to check out his e-mails. A small smile spreads across his face when he sees Tyrion’s mail pop up on his screen, promising not satisfaction either, but at the very least, a way out of spinning circles.</p><p>
  <em>Time for a break – and a break-up.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Theater</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The stage is set for a confrontation that was bound to happen from the start.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello to all of you who dare stick around for this dark tale, even though it is far from the season right now.</p><p>Many thanks for the lovely kudos and comments you gifted me. I loved them all. ♥♥♥</p><p>I hope you enjoy! </p><p>Much love! ♥♥♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“… No, it’s quite alright. I added the information to the report accordingly, for future reference. I also missed that during my own examination. I’d simply appreciate it if you went over the evidence another time, just to be certain,” Brienne sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand.</p><p>She called the coroner from Castle Black another time to inform him of her latest findings and to ensure that not more evidence escaped their view. After all, even the smallest detail can obscure the truth Brienne is so desperate to find. The fact that two pathologists missed the coin stuck in the man’s head is already an error Brienne regrets with loathing.</p><p>
  <em>This is not supposed to happen. It can’t happen. I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. And yet…</em>
</p><p>And yet, Brienne is making phone calls, having to repeat the words over and over: she failed at something she should excel at. Something that should work without fault, without doubt. Because those things are absolute. When so much else in an investigation is guess work, this is absolute truth, plain facts. And normally, Brienne is the one to bring those hard truths to light.</p><p>
  <em>And yet, here I was, walking in the darkness under red city lights instead of looking into the light gleaming under a dead man’s skin.</em>
</p><p>“I’ll do that, sure,” the coroner assures her. “Honestly, I just didn’t expect a coin in there. I thought the guy was just into smashing that man to pieces.”</p><p>“One can never know,” Brienne answers mildly. “There are some many things we still have to put our finger on when it comes to the investigation. That seems to be one of them.”</p><p>“It seems so. Well, I will let you know if I find anything else.”</p><p>“I appreciate that very much.”</p><p>“Alright, if you don’t mind, I am getting another phone call.”</p><p>“Of course,” she replies. “I thank you for your time.”</p><p>“Thank you, too.”</p><p>Brienne presses the red button on her phone and tosses it on the towers of files she built while reviewing all the evidence at her disposal another time. Brienne presses her knuckles against her closed eyes, hunched forward in her seat. She looks back at the images of the coin sitting in front of her tauntingly, feeling a headache build up behind her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>How could I miss this?</em>
</p><p>When Mr. Baratheon called her to his office, Brienne had spent part of the way rehearsing an explanation and an apology for her error. After all, she fully expected the chief to voice his misgivings over this. It was the first thing she brought up, to unburden herself, but Robert Baratheon showed little care.</p><p>“That can happen,” he had told her, and it only ever added to her loathing.</p><p>While surely, it <em>can</em> happen, that doesn’t mean it <em>should</em>. Brienne does not like to be given leeway for mistakes. It may be ridiculous on her behalf, but she was disappointed that Chief Baratheon didn’t seem to care for this error as much as he should have. Doesn’t he care because he thinks the Detective will handle it just fine? Doesn’t he care because he can’t be bothered to be interested? Or does he view her input, her findings, as no more than a nice appendage in the report?</p><p>And once those thoughts crept their way into her head, Brienne genuinely thought a coin was stuck in <em>her</em> head. Because if the last option were to be true, what does that tell her about her contribution to the investigation? Her work? And if the others are true, what does that tell her about the agency she is currently working for as a consultant?</p><p>If the Detective’s words are to be believed, of which Brienne can’t be too sure, Robert Baratheon doesn’t care about the accuracy of the job so long it gets done somehow, anyhow. Her own notion tends in a similar direction, but Brienne finds it unwise to pass judgment on thin evidence she has no means to prove or disprove.</p><p>What Brienne can attest to is that the chief is not a man paying much attention to detail. Only today it dawned on the chief that he actually knew her, albeit distantly, from high school. From her life before Brienne started working at the convent. It almost seemed like he looked at her with different eyes once realization came to him like an odd epiphany.</p><p>And Brienne had to try hard not to cringe when the chief kept lingering in those memories of old, which he seems to remember much more fondly than she does.</p><p>“I always admired your old man. How is he faring now? I hope the business isn’t failing anymore.”</p><p>“Oh, now I remember! Why didn’t you say anything? You were one of the first they put in the boys’ teams in sports because they were scared you’d just injure half of the girls with any contact sport.”</p><p>“Ah, right, Renly told me about that ball and that wager. Boys will be boys, am I right? Sometimes I miss the high school drama, you know?”</p><p>“But the damn best was when I read it in the newspapers. It was hilarious! I can’t say I knew Humfrey what’s his last name, but the photos were priceless. Pity I wasn’t around by the time you shook up that party! I bet it was a blast!”</p><p>Brienne just clutched her seven-pointed star through it all and prayed to the Father for patience. It is just this life she meant to leave behind, but the shadows of old just keep on coming and biting at the hem of her gray robes. Silent Sisters ought to say as little as needed and think the rest.</p><p>
  <em>Boys will be boys. Men will be men. What a useless sentiment that is.</em>
</p><p>While Brienne heard it far too often throughout her life, she can’t shake off the anger attached to it, can’t keep her fists from balling. If boys will be boys and men will be men, then why can’t they act better? Why is the current state always the excuse for shortcomings instead of a state to move away from? A motivation for change?</p><p>Though to hear that Renly is faring well at Highgarden was a great comfort the chief offered, albeit unknowingly. In those shadowy times before Brienne came to Quiet Isle, Renly was her biggest crush, foolish as it was. Because deep-down, Brienne knew soon enough that not only didn’t he have interest in her but also not in any girls at all. But the heart is seldom rational, which is one of its greatest fallacies to her mind. It doesn’t stick to the rules and does not much care whether a feeling is bound to be an error edging on disaster. It just beats faster and makes you act unreasonably.</p><p>She certainly acted unreasonably, scrambling after Renly only just for him to notice her. But he was kind to her when no one else was, and for that, Brienne loved him. She did. Foolish as it was. And a part of her will always love him for it, though her childish infuriation has since faded.</p><p>Once you are a Silent Sister, none of those things matter anymore anyway. They just fade away to distant memories that you may even come to look upon fondly one day, as far as they are removed from the reality you chose to live in.</p><p>
  <em>Because you are supposed to only love the Gods. </em>
</p><p>And this may well be her path towards freedom.</p><p>Brienne’s comfort was soon overtaken during her conversation with the chief, though, when Robert started asking about Detective Lannister and wanted to be sure that she’d forward her reports to him as soon as they get done. Shouldn’t he know better about his own troop instead of having to refer to her for an assessment? The chief said he asked because it had been such a long time someone asked him for permission before calling in an outside party to review some of the evidence that her request reminded him that <em>maybe</em> they should do that more often.</p><p>Which, again, raised the question whether he was being genuine and forgot or actually tries to get something out of her that he can’t find out about the detective on his own. Which, again, has Brienne wonder just what is worse.</p><p>As far as she is concerned, the department is in shambles. The chief himself seems to have little ambition or care for his own profession, his team, or much of anything besides lingering in better times lying in the past. And the detective seems more focused on pushing her out of the investigation so not to be under scrutiny than he is on finding the murderer.</p><p><em>That, or drinking and speeding</em>, she thinks to herself, huffing.</p><p>Brienne developed a particular distaste for people who are careless with their lives. There are people who were desperate to live, clawed and nailed, who fought for every last shred of their lives. Who gasped for air, kicked their feet, even as the current swept them under again and again.</p><p>
  <em>Children, even. Children whose lives were still only just ahead, only to be taken away for no good reason, no good cause.</em>
</p><p>To throw away something as precious as life is an insult to those who had their lives taken away.</p><p>Similarly, someone who can’t be bothered to care about his own life can’t in all sincerity devote it to some higher cause, to others. Because there is a difference between being self-sacrificing or endangering yourself for the greater good and… just not caring whether you are dead or alive.</p><p>
  <em>If you have nothing to lose, you have nothing you find worth fighting for.</em>
</p><p>And Brienne finds people very dangerous who view the world in such a way. Even though Brienne finds herself at a great disarray ever since she came to the city and caught glimpses of the purgatory, Brienne knows that the world offers more than this darkness. Even in that darkness, you can find light. And that light, however dim it may be, is worth protection and sacrifice.</p><p>
  <em>Even if the Detective would probably disagree on that assessment, finding it no more than wishful thinking and make-believe.</em>
</p><p>That is certainly not what Brienne expected when she took the offer to consult on the case. Though then again, there are many things she does not expect, and yet they keep happening. Despite the fact that they must not.</p><p>
  <em>The coin proved just that, didn’t it?</em>
</p><p>Her work needs to be immaculate. Or else truths are obscured, lost. And right now, there are too many distractions, too many things keeping her from doing what she trained to do for years, trained to prevent from happening on her watch.</p><p>
  <em>Is he right, then? Maybe I should just stay in the morgue and be done with the pictures he’d send me.</em>
</p><p>Brienne exhales, leaning back. Or maybe she just needs to get some more sleep. She can see what a lack thereof does to the detective. And that is not just from that one time she roused him, Brienne can tell that much.</p><p>Nonetheless, no small part of her envies him for how he manages to perceive the world, dive into other peoples’ minds, even when he doesn’t seem to give it all he has, even if he doesn’t seem to care.</p><p>It is one of those qualities, one of those talents, she does not possess. And it is something she can’t ever learn, because you either have it or you don’t. And Brienne finds herself lacking in that regard. She didn’t grow up particularly talented, just strong-willed and hard-working. And this ability is something you can’t gain just by relentless training and iron hard discipline.</p><p>It is scary, too, the ability to dive so deep and deeper still into the mind of a person you don’t know, have never met, and still understand their innermost self, parts that they themselves may very well not comprehend.</p><p>It’s the ability to immerse into the darkest corners of the human mind and not be swept under.</p><p>It’s the ability to truly understand people, not be fooled by their lies, even those they only ever tell themselves. To chip away at it until nothing else remains except for that unchangeable core called truth.</p><p>The Detective, undoubtedly, possesses that talent, makes it his very own art, however macabre it may be. He wouldn’t be as good at his job as he is, if not for talents and skill to match his big mouth. And yet, Brienne can’t shake off the feeling that he is not only listening to the voice of his gift. Instead of listening to reason, he seems to listen to the reasons he himself dictates.</p><p>And in that way, he is merely disguising self-told lies as truths to suit his purposes. He isn’t chipping away but adding on to obscure the truth, only to serve his purposes to somehow keep the upper hand.</p><p>
  <em>But you can’t find truth if you shroud it in the shadows of your own mind.</em>
</p><p>Brienne looks at the examination tables where she reviewed both bodies again to be sure to catch every detail this time, every ounce of truth before it is obscured again. She hates that moment, that threshold she finds herself approaching way too fast. The limits of her work. Because once you gathered all truths the body contained, the great waiting begins. The call for fresh blood and meat, even though that is exactly what Brienne seeks to prevent by being here, though she knows she is not at all welcome.</p><p>Little time from now, her ability to help will be reduced to her need for another body to tell her the truths she couldn’t find based on the truths she’s ha at her disposal.</p><p>Brienne didn’t work on an awful lot of cases involving serial killers – <em>thank the Seven</em>. Two times she reviewed the evidence for a cold case and found some fresh leads that helped in some way. Three times she consulted on an active case, one time too late, one time without any substantial truths that brought the investigation forward, and one time actually with clues that helped catch the murderer. And last time she had to force herself into the investigation as no one was paying attention to something that laid right in the open from the pathologist’s view. And now it is the seventh time.</p><p>
  <em>Isn’t that fitting? Hopefully it is a charm.</em>
</p><p>No matter what, on the active cases she worked thus far, Brienne felt the dread of reaching the end of her rope too fast, not knowing what else to offer to shed light on a great darkness and bring justice to the dead. So she sat there, at the morgue, waiting for… she wasn’t sure what. New evidence? Another body? That couldn’t be it. And yet, she’d been waiting and cold dread clutched at her as she sat in the morgue, biding her time. Forced into inaction. Waiting, just waiting, only to realize that those were the boundaries, the threshold she couldn’t cross, the ultimate truth to her limitations not just by virtue of her profession but also of her own.</p><p>Because crossing the threshold means facing the truth that every victim to follow is, in part, a result of her shortcomings to find the truths the other victims already told.</p><p>
  <em>It means not to be good enough. Again. </em>
</p><p>Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t want to wait anymore. She waited for so long, too long, for so much, too much. And yet, there was no change, there continues to be no change. So when the call came, Brienne thought this was the Gods’ way of telling her that this was indeed her time to move forward, to stop waiting but to finally do something. To save lives to tell their stories instead of gathering them once they are on her table.</p><p>
  <em>But maybe I was wrong. Again.</em>
</p><p>Brienne stands up abruptly, finding her airways tightening. She needs some fresh air. Right now. Brienne stalks down the dark corridor, plucking her earphones into her ears as she goes. She needs those familiar tones inside her head not to forget.</p><p>Because that is something she can always do: Not forget.</p><p>Brienne pushes the metal door open. Bright light floods into the darkened corridor as she walks outside. She can feel the warmth of the sun instantly creeping into her pale skin, keeping her from shuddering. Brienne takes a deep breath, two, three. But the smell of aerosols and smog in the air almost make her want to gag.</p><p>This city is doing something to her, and Brienne has to be careful not to slip.</p><p>Because she cares. She won’t ever stop caring.</p><p>Because the truth is worth sacrifice, whatever shape or form it may take.</p><p>That is the promise she won’t ever forget.</p><hr/><p>Jaime is mildly surprised not to find the septa fussing around the morgue. He expected her to flip every body upside-down just to be sure she didn’t miss a single bruise or just shake them out to see what tumbles out.</p><p>But it suits him fine. For now anyway. It gives him time to set the stage, put up his act and get into character.</p><p>Whistling, he lets his gaze wander over the evidence she neatly piled up, all folders perfectly aligned with the edges of the table. He can spot even from a distance how she added commentary in the margins in the angriest shades of red.</p><p>
  <em>That should prepare her for teaching, once she realizes that this is to where she’s best headed. She will be feared in classrooms, grading papers, no doubt there.</em>
</p><p>It’s almost charming, this kind of attention to detail, the sheer obsession with it. And it certainly makes her as good at her job as she is, no doubt there either. But with a margin of error that narrow, you don’t get far in his kind of business, no matter how neatly you fit it into the margins of the reports, no matter how neat your handwriting.</p><p>
  <em>And it’s high time she learns that lesson. Because I am certainly not going to be anyone’s bloody teacher.</em>
</p><p>No, he doesn’t want to teach this wicked art that consumed the best and the worst parts of his life. Any sane person should not want to learn it either. It takes too much and gives too little. Jaime just wants to forget. He wants people to forget the names, until they are no more than a subtle murmur he can ignore most of his days. But even that’s a bliss he won’t be granted, Jaime knows it. He knew it the moment he pulled that bloody trigger.</p><p>
  <em>They’d remember the Mad King and the Kingslayer, but not the thousands of lives that guy didn’t get to take because another guy took him down first.</em>
</p><p>The detective’s eyes stop at an antique-looking cellphone beside the neat stacks of files and pictures on the table. The corners of his lips curl upwards. Now he knows how the act is going to go exactly. After all, he wrote the play inside his head already. Though the Sister just delivered a most useful tool to pull of one of the shittiest magic tricks known to the world.</p><p>When Jaime starts to go through her phone, he is not even looking for evidence. It’s just a prop to add to the effect.</p><p>Jaime smiles as he pulls up a chair and sits down, making sure to leave his feet propped up on the altar of neatly aligned files. Props, so many props he can make use of. How lucky he is. And how much his teeth already start to ache. Because it’s a magic trick without pulling a bunny out of the hat. You do it in plain sight and people still take it to be real.</p><p>
  <em>The wonders of irrationality and thus the human condition. That’s the true magic, isn’t it?</em>
</p><p>When the door opens, Jaime can hear her big feet shuffling over the tiled floor even before he can see her scrambling back, not having expected him. Jaime smiles at her as her face replaces all hints of surprise with anger.</p><p>And then her fists start to ball, so Jaime knows he is right on track with his first act and how to let it commence. Set the stage. Rearrange the lights. Let the music swell.</p><p>“… Detective,” the Silent Sister mutters, not even gracing him with a look in the eye as she maneuvers over to her precious evidence as though it was the only anchor left for her not to tackle him to the ground.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe you should, though, Sister. Because then you’d at least be honest with yourself for a change. Can’t recommend it, but boy, is it necessary at times! To break out and free, not caring about the consequences. </em>
</p><p>Jaime grins at her. “Sister.”</p><p>“What brings you here?” she asks, doing a poor job at sounding casual. Jaime watches with growing amusement as the wheels in her head start turning round and round again, scanning her evidence, trying to channel irritation and frustration with work, work, work, work.</p><p>He waits for just the right moment for the second act to unfold. It’s that one second when her fingers twitch as realization seeps through her veins. Something is missing from her most careful arrangement.</p><p>Her big blue eyes search him, find him, pierce him, make him bleed. And Jaime relishes the pain as he nonchalantly continues to go through her phone, noting, “Gee, I thought I was making a mean joke when I said you had no friends, but your phone definitely proves me right.”</p><p>The septa’s mind does not yet seem to be able to compute. “What?”</p><p>Jaime wriggles her phone in her direction with a flippant move of the hand. “You have a total number of three phone numbers on your phone. The convent on Quiet Isle, your father, and supposedly a family friend because no one below the age of fifty is named Goodwin these days. Damn, this is almost sad.”</p><p>She shakes her head, as though to shake water out of her ears preventing her from hearing clearly. “You… you went through my phone.”</p><p><em>Not just that</em>, he thinks to himself, <em>but we will get to that later</em>.</p><p>After all, the second act is about building up the tension. And a small betrayal usually gets the job done just right. It cements your positions as opposites never meant to come together, unable to move towards one another. All you have to do is to maneuver people in the right direction and they will easily fall into their old habits, their comfortable systems of belief.</p><p>“I can’t help it when you leave it around like that,” he huffs. “Let that be a lesson to you, Sister.”</p><p>Jaime readjusts his position on the chair. If she decides to bolt up and rip it out of his hand, she may knock him over and he doesn’t fancy a concussion. He can’t afford a headache on top of the headache she gives him, Robert gives him, everything gives him, taking all, leaving none. Because there is too much noise in his head as is.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them… Enough!</em>
</p><p>To his surprise, the Silent Sister doesn’t burst out the way she did with the drunkard who wanted to get more than he bargained for from the prostitutes she saved with a spark plug and sheer stubbornness. Instead, the septa just stands there and stares at him, fists balled, jaws clenched, eyes wide.</p><p>And he almost pities her right there, but really just almost. After all, she brought that upon herself.</p><p>
  <em>Right?</em>
</p><p>“I can’t believe you invaded my privacy like that,” the Silent Sister declares, and those words sound genuine. Yet again, that is almost surprising. Jaime expected her to have expected the worst from him.</p><p>
  <em>Isn’t that the whole fuckin’ point of the theater we keep playing?</em>
</p><p>But he won’t let that waver him in his resolve to trace back to familiar paths he knows how to maneuver on even when the lights are blinding him. Jaime knows he can’t back down, now that the curtains opened and the play began. The end is only there when the final curtain falls.</p><p>“Sister, calm down. Your phone is about as personal as passport picture. You write no texts. You don’t even have any fun ringtones! Your phone’s maybe even blander than you are.”</p><p>“You had no right to go through my phone without my consent,” she tells him, trying so desperately to stay true to the name of her profession, to be silent, quiet, calm. But he can see the wars raging within her, scratching at those gray walls.</p><p>
  <em>So let it out, Sister. Come on now, show it. </em>
</p><p>“Again, it told me nothing I didn’t already know,” Jaime snorts, his voice oozing with nonchalance.</p><p>It’s just a prop, a tool to make a point, after all.</p><p>“Is that so?” she asks, not expecting an answer. “As far as I am concerned, you know me very little, which is the only way to explain your poor judgment of me.”</p><p><em>And here we go</em>, he thinks, almost amused, hearing the gray robes crack under the pressure of her anger.</p><p>“<em>Poor judgment</em>.” Jaime lets the words roll over his tongue. It still tastes as stale as he remembers. “I think I am dead-on when it comes to you.”</p><p>The Silent Sister shakes her head. “People with that kind ego tend to think that they are right at all times.”</p><p>Jaime smiles, licking his aching teeth. He can almost see the steel shine through her plain gray garments, her little shield from reality, from herself.</p><p>“And here I thought you trusted my expertise at the very least,” he laughs.</p><p>It’s all just empty phrases, isn’t it? All the praise and thanks yous and sorrys. They are hollow, absolutely meaningless. He can’t remember how often people told him, the septa very much included, to be more tactful.</p><p>Good old Ned also tried it, and boy, how laughable that was, coming from a guy so hellbent on truth and honor. That Jaime should cooperate more. That he didn’t integrate well with the team due to his attitude. When really, he was just taking a piss at him, and Jaime pissed right back.</p><p>That’s the good thing when you work alone. You don’t owe anybody explanation or kind words. You don’t have to bend yourself out of shape by trying to make things seem better just for the sake to make it easier on the recipient. You don’t have to be tactful if you only have yourself to blame.</p><p><em>Tactful</em>. What a stupid concept that is, so utterly useless. Tact is just another way to disguise the truth. Whether people just laugh behind your back or right to your face changes nothing about the message they are sending. The only difference is that one gives you the comfort of escape. That they don’t mean it <em>that</em> much, when they really do. In the end, tact and all that nonsense is only there to make you believe that the world is not as shitty, that people aren’t as terrible as they truly are.</p><p>“Perhaps I was left somewhat sobered up once I got to know the man people have told such grand stories about,” the Silent Sister sighs, pulling Jaime back to the theater in the morgue. “Sometimes people just like to overpraise a name.”</p><p>He leans his head back, feeling light-headed and his teeth pounding in his jaw. “People don’t tend to overpraise that one.”</p><p>
  <em>Kingslayer. </em>
</p><p>“All I see right now is a man who is taking his talents as justification to treat everyone around him like dirt. And that even though people try to help,” she answers. “I don’t think that this is due praise.”</p><p>He chuckles. “And <em>people</em> meaning you.”</p><p>So that’s how the septa sees it? That she is helping him not just with some information and insight? That she is saving him too, from eternal rides down the Seven Hells and back again? <em>Now, that’s almost cute. </em></p><p>“I bet you get off the hook with such behavior all too easily. But not with me, Detective,” she answers, resolution pouring out of every freckled pore. “I am not easily scared away. And I am certainly not intimidated by someone like you who makes a grand show of it not to care about anyone or anything.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “There are no men like me.”</p><p>The Silent Sister rolls her eyes. “Oh, how many men grow up believing just that?”</p><p>Jaime smiles. She is not entirely wrong there.</p><p>“Well, show me someone who can do what I can do. I mean, why else would you, holier-than-thou as you are, bother with me of all people if there was someone out there who’s like me, even in the slightest?” He rolls his shoulders. “I mean, you are so good with analyzing the evidence, Sister. Isn’t that just the plain facts?”</p><p>“For the sake of the argument: Even if those were the plain facts, I still don’t see why someone as able as you claim you are is having such trouble tolerating a consultant on a subject matter he himself does not have as much experience in.”</p><p>“You are so close to getting the point, Sister. So damn close,” he huffs, holding up his hand to show the narrow gap between his pressed-together thumb and index finger. “But that’s it. I wouldn’t have a problem with a <em>consultant</em> filling in. But you don’t want to be <em>just</em> a consultant, do you? You are a woman on a mission.”</p><p>Consultants don’t bring their whole selves to the plate. They just give the advices and go. And that is the wonder of them. They are a resource, useful, necessary, even. But Jaime can’t cope with the weight of personal baggage. He can’t walk the path with those people. Because he has to pursue the path of killers, walk into their darknesses and into his own.</p><p>She blinks at him. “You mean to imply?”</p><p>“I <em>really</em> don’t think you want to know,” Jaime replies coyly. It’s a game he learned to win every damn time, which took out any fun long time ago.</p><p>The Sister clenches her jaw. “I <em>really</em> think I know better than you what I want to know and don’t want to know.”</p><p>
  <em>Curse of the scientists and academics, isn’t it? Wanting to know, and wanting to know better.</em>
</p><p>“And I <em>really</em> think I know you better than you’d like me to know you. Because that’s the bane of this job,” Jaime replies.</p><p>He knows the game, he’s been playing his part in this mad theater for far too long already. He’s seen the villains, and he’s seen people cheer the villain on just because they liked the story too much, got high on the thrill of diving into the darkness, when they really just dipped their little toes in, finding it too cold.</p><p>He knows the mechanics behind the stage, he knows who pulls the threads and in what direction. It’s all just an act, the great pretending. He knows it, he feels it, every damn day. Because that’s the job he chose, and so he lives with it, dies with it, every day a bit more.</p><p>“And an active choice of yours.” The Silent Sister cocks an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“I can’t help but see, observe. You smudge it right in my face, Sister. And that even though you try so desperately to hide it all behind gray robes and veil.”</p><p>“Like my phone just laying there?” she huffs.</p><p>Jaime shrugs. “That was just confirming some of my hypotheses regarding you.”</p><p>“<em>Hypotheses</em>?” She folds her arms over her flat chest. “Interesting, care to share?”</p><p>“I think we share way too much,” he replies.</p><p>When he went through the script for his act, Jaime heard echoes of his own story far too often, a story he’d really want to forget about. There are parts of him that used to think like her. Who believed in ideals and making a difference in the world through hard work. Who was that foolish.</p><p>But no matter how hard he worked, it didn’t prevent death, it didn’t prevent him to open his eyes to the bloody truth just how corrupt the whole damn world seems to be. How you just keep riding into battles against imaginary villains that are actually just shadows on the wall.</p><p>
  <em>Am I saving her, then? Fuckin’ Seven Hells.</em>
</p><p>The septa shakes her head. “So this is really it? Just because you can’t seem to tolerate having me be a more active part in the investigation?”</p><p>“Actually, it grows to be more and more to be that I specifically can’t work with you of all people, Sister, if I may be that frank.” He smiles at her, bares his teeth. “After all, honesty is a virtue. I’ve read that in your precious book during my self-study.”</p><p>“And how is that? Here I thought you accepted <em>my</em> expertise, too, Detective.”</p><p>“For a number of reasons. For one, you disturb my routines. And I need those routines running to catch a murderer. I told you in as many words as I could that I value the work you do and the insights you have since provided. You are one fine consultant. And a good pathologist, too, no doubt there.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“As I said, you are a woman on a mission, and that’s what I got no use for,” Jaime answers. “Because as much as you may secretly crave it, Sister, you are not cut out for the kind of job I do – since you won’t do it my way. And my way is the only way I know how to do my job. Other profilers will surely know other and likely better ways than mine, but this is how I do it. And I do it alone. I do it how I see fit. And I can’t have you question me on every decision I make. And I can’t worry about you when all of my attention should be on this here.”</p><p>Jaime can’t have lingering doubt when he has to pursue leads based on the thin evidence the human mind gives. He can’t watch his back while also watching hers and keeping an eye on future victims. Even less so when this is perfectly preventable.</p><p>He has to keep his eyes trained on the darkness ahead, not the one looking back at him through big blue eyes from the tracks off to the sides.</p><p>“I believe I have been quite forthcoming and kept my mouth shut when normally I would have spoken up,” she grumbles.</p><p>“Which took you a whole lot more effort than you should have to make. I am all for live and let live, Sister. You do your job your way, I do mine my way. And we can profit from one another all the same if we keep things strictly separate from now on,” he tells her. “A relationship of mutual benefit, if you will.”</p><p>And wouldn’t that be the most honest solution?</p><p>“Your chief –,” the Silent Sister tries to say, but he cuts her off, “Robert can suck my dick.”</p><p>She huffs. He sighs. “See, this is how it already starts. You can’t even stomach me saying cunt or bitch or dick without blushing like the shyest virgin. But that’s not even the point. The point is that I don’t look for someone to tell me how to do my job. I don’t need someone to fix my routines, give me a touch-up on how to be a good detective, going by the book. I don’t need anyone fixing me. And you don’t need someone to fix you either. And anyway, I would rather not be the guy to dig through that. For that, there are shrinks.”</p><p>The Silent Sister narrows her eyes at him. “You think I should see a therapist?”</p><p>“I think we all should. All of us are nuts, trust me, I should know. Even the shrinks are nuts, but they learned how to conceal it by making you see your own problems first.”</p><p>“Well, if <em>all</em> are mad, it doesn’t make much of a difference if I am.”</p><p>Jaime chuckles to himself. How mighty she feels, trying to simply be clever with logical arguments that surely work great in a dissertation. But real life does not happen on the page, doesn't happen in just the files you neatly stack up. Life doesn't happen in the margin of scribbled notes with red sharpie.</p><p>Life happens out in the street, right next to death happening in the gutter.</p><p>Life happens in the miseries of people who have to sell sex when they don’t want to, and get killed for it.</p><p>Life happens in the corruption of architects choosing money over safety.</p><p>Life happens even when you end it, in a dark corridor, somewhere down below.</p><p>You can’t stop it, you can’t help it, you can’t fix it.</p><p>It keeps happening, spinning circles, round and round.</p><p>And you can’t find clever arguments to give it another spin. You can’t transform it into something better, something hopeful, something good. No matter how tactful you are about it. No matter how carefully you phrase it.</p><p>The whole world is mad, and some are just madder than others as they decide that they have to kill people, cut sigils into them, smash them with hammers till morning comes or burn them alive.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>“All I am saying is that I am not trying to tell you how to do your job. What I can tell you is that you can’t do my job. And you should be happy for it because that means you still have some small chance not to end up in the looney bin once the Stranger gets you. This is not your steppingstone to become a Silent Detective, even though you seem to have dreamed up that scenario for you.”</p><p>“And I have no such ambition,” she insists.</p><p>
  <em>Liar, and a bad liar while at it.</em>
</p><p>“You joined this mission almost instantly because you have something to prove. You want to prove it to others and yourself that you are capable of more than just poking at the dead and writing dissertations about it. Because your life’s been a heap of could’ve beens and missed chances. And you are desperate to fix them, fix yourself, and along the way, get fixed, too. But that just ain’t happening, Sister. Because trust me in this: This shit world is not the place for fairy tales and happy endings.”</p><p>There is a moment of silence, of lingering. The tall woman is chewing on her bottom lip, eyes wide, though not daring to lift her gaze at this point. She is telling him nothing Jaime doesn’t already know. Because he always wins that game. After all, he is the one holding the strings.</p><p>“It’d be unwise of you to presume to know my ambitions or their sources, Detective,” she says, her voice purposely leveled.</p><p>“Maybe unwise, but I am not incorrect, which you just now confirmed, or else you would have phrased it differently, Sister,” he snorts.</p><p>She grunts, visibly displeased at the fact that he is laying out, <em>well</em>, the facts. It’s always toughest to get truths handed to us we are not ready to admit to ourselves. Especially if they are about our shortcomings and mistakes.</p><p>“You are resourceful, no doubt. I bet you can even handle yourself in a fist fight. And having you see the scenes remains a good choice, but I don’t need you tagging after me for interrogation. I don’t need you anywhere near the action. Near me to question me and my methods, as unorthodox as they may be to someone who loves to stick to the book at all times. That is all. It is no insult. It is no way of degrading you or your work. It’s just the facts. And you seem to love those an awful lot, so I don’t understand why you make it so difficult on me.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> took me along,” the Sister retorts, anger finally starting to tear away at her blank expression, letting her true self shine through gray cracks. “It’s not like I went to your boss to request being sent with you.”</p><p>“And that was the last time I have done that,” he grunts.</p><p>She is a distraction, and he can’t afford that. The fires behind his eyes are enough to take his mind off of where it needs to be. Pitiful as it may be, it’s the only way he knows how to deal with this.</p><p>
  <em>As I was saying, we’re all mad in here.</em>
</p><p>“You act as though I had the power to force you to take me along. If you choose not to, you choose not to. In all honesty, Detective, I fail to understand the argument we are having.”</p><p>“I think you know very well what argument we are having,” he snorts. “You are stubborn to the point of obsession, really. If you think you need to be there, you will find the means to ensure that you are. If you think you have to be there, you will catch a cab down to wherever just because you think it is crucial that you are there, at that moment in time, in just that fashion. And if you have to pester Robert about it, so be it. I guess he’s intimidated by you enough because you combine, by his standards, unfuckability and smartness.”</p><p>“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult,” she huffs.</p><p>“Take it as you see fit. What I mean to say is that you are the type of person to run towards a fire instead of turning the fuck away from it. And I honestly can’t worry about keeping you from getting your veil burned while working this case just because you are desperate to prove something,” Jaime tells her. “I am not here to help you work through your personal problems and live the life you couldn’t live because you decided that you had to join a convent so not to face your past failures. And I can tell that much from experience, running from the past does not work, no matter how fast you run or lock the doors.”</p><p>
  <em>Story of my fuckin’ life. And the death of me eventually.</em>
</p><p>She takes a step back, then forces herself to step forward again. “… What has you think I work at the convent for <em>past failures</em>?”</p><p>He smiles. The septa is quicker than he feared after all. “A woman who jumps from getting engaged to her father’s business partner in a rush, only to then beat him to pulp for all of the Stormlands to see and fuss about, only to then join the Silent Sisters about a month after… let’s just say this is written in such plain language that there’s no need for an interpreter.”</p><p>And just like that, they entered the climax of the play. The great showdown that will inevitably set the stage for either comedy or tragedy. Though in Jaime’s experience, even if you can laugh about it, the kind of games they play are always headed to catastrophe, this way or the other. The only difference is that a comedy allows you to laugh at the Stranger’s face when the final curtain falls.</p><p>“How… how do you know about my past engagement?” she stammers.</p><p>
  <em>Oh boy, that armor is dropping fast, isn’t it?</em>
</p><p>He shrugs his shoulders. “I asked around a bit.”</p><p>“I thought your time was too precious to waste on me,” the septa scoffs, balling her fists, squaring up. No less did he expect of her, though the genuine distress tugging at the corners of her mouth is no surprise to him either. It only ever confirms what he already knows. She is playing along because he is the one pulling the strings.</p><p>And for some, you have to tug very hard to make them move, it would seem.</p><p>“It is precious time wasted on you, yes,” Jaime tells her. “But I need to know who I work with. On a case like this, even you should see that it is detrimental to do your homework. You surely did, too.”</p><p>“I did not go through your personal history and contacted people who had no right to dig through my past the way you have done.”</p><p>“Because you have a conscience, Sister. I won’t pride myself having any of that shit left,” he tells her, gesturing at her dismissively.</p><p>He let it all be burned to the fuckin’ ground.</p><p>The Silent Sister narrows her eyes. Jaime can see how her body wants to move in all kinds of directions, wants to move forward, backward, away, wants to punch, wants to shove, wants to break out. But she is strong enough to restrain herself. And Jaime is not entirely sure whether he should admire her for it or pity her.</p><p>Because he knows first-hand how much it tears you apart to have to act your part, knowing what is expected of you. You learn to smile when you want to cry. You learn to laugh when you feel choked up. You learn to walk away when you want to punch everyone’s teeth out. You learn to go away inside and stay there.</p><p>“So is that how you make yourself feel powerful?” she asks through gritted teeth. “Invading people’s privacy, believing yourself above it all as you analyze them, not even knowing who they truly are? Just to keep the upper hand in an argument?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh too familiar, isn’t it, Sister?</em>
</p><p>They really are too much alike. And Jaime does not fancy looking back into that reflection in a mirror pointing to the past.</p><p>Jaime will give the septa due credit, though. He expected her to just huff and puff and be offended. The fact that the Silent Sister tries to analyze his ways is almost impressive, however futile it may be. While completely missing the point, it is certainly an unexpected reaction.</p><p>
  <em>But it just isn’t enough.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t care about power, Sister. I just did my homework, as I said. Because I need to know who I am up against. And you… you have a shit ton of problems of your own I don’t want to and can’t deal with right now. This case is no therapy for you.”</p><p>
  <em>This kind of work is not salvation. It’s damnation.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t view it as such,” she argues.</p><p>“Unconsciously, you do, though,” Jaime sighs, longing for the blue fume of a cigarette, its cold burn. “As I said, just laying out the facts here, Sister, even those you can’t see from where you are standing.”</p><p>“Just because you did some internet research about me, you think you know who I am?”</p><p>Jaime smiles. “I know because I know how to do my job. I told you and I keep telling you because you just won’t listen. Even if you tend to disagree on that matter, depending on what methods I use. Reading people, that’s my job. That’s what I can do. And yes, <em>just</em> from some internet research I know more than enough to be sure that I need you out of my stratosphere if I want to move this case along as I have to.”</p><p>“Really? Then what do you think you know about me that makes me unfit to actively be with you on this investigation, Detective? What has you think that I am unfit, just trying to work out my own personal problems instead of contributing to turn this case around?” she demands to know.</p><p>“I don’t think you are prepared for that conversation, Sister. I think we should just let it rest, agree to disagree and go our separate ways. You did that once, too, and seemingly it worked out for you. Maybe not as much for Mr. Wagstaff, but for you it certainly did. After all, you seem to enjoy what you do as much as someone like you can enjoy much of anything.”</p><p>
  <em>Just play your part and be done with it, Sister. You won’t ever play the main part. That’s the story of your life. And the sooner you get used to it, the better.</em>
</p><p>If you get to acceptance fast, you may not spare yourself the grief, but you don’t waste your precious energy on anger and denial.</p><p>She steps closer to him, fists balled, knuckles white, eyes unnaturally wide. “Try me then, Detective. Test your hypothesis. I am dying to hear it.”</p><p>Jaime shakes his head with a smile, licking his aching teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”</p><p>“It sounds very much like empty threats to me, Detective.”</p><p>“If there is one thing I learned from my father, then it is that if you want to threaten someone, you have to have the ability to carry it out.”</p><p>“Well then. Try. Me.”</p><p>“I can only warn you…”</p><p>“It was duly noted,” she interjects. “Carry on.”</p><p>Jaime sighs, letting his feet drop from the table to sit up on the chair, folding his hands under his chin, not once letting his gaze wander away from her.</p><p>
  <em>Tragedy it is, then.</em>
</p><p> “Alright, don’t say I didn’t tell you so, though.”</p><p>She just looks at him, stabs him with her big blue eyes. He licks his lips, enjoying it more than he should. It shouldn’t give him satisfaction, but this has gone on for too long by now. It needs to end. And so he will pull the strings until the curtain comes down to end this misery.</p><p>“Let’s start with how you present yourself to me just now, shall we?” he asks, not waiting for her to answer. “Because for that, I didn't even need to do my homework. I just had to take a good long look at you. Either way. What do I see when I look at you? You are not just tidy, you are obsessed with keeping things in order. Why? Because you are desperate to keep control. Because losing it puts you right back to all the times in life you came to regret so very much.”</p><p>She says nothing, just waits, resembling a wild beast circling its prey. But Jaime knows for a fact that he is not that pound of meat, quite on the contrary, in fact.</p><p>“Same goes for your body language. You always aim towards self-restraint to keep control over a body that you’ve probably been taught time and time again is dangerous and can do serious harm. Because you were always physically stronger than most of your age peers. To this day, you can’t help but restrain that <em>beast</em>.”</p><p>Jaime doesn’t miss the small wince at the last word. He got that bit from his research, too. Mean as it may be, even those words are just props to him in the end, a way to coax the right reactions out of her.</p><p>“You punish yourself by pressing down too hard on your palms, your arms. Just to somehow keep in control. Because you are afraid, flat-out terrified, that you will lose whatever scraps you have left,” he continues. Jaime grins when he sees her futile attempts to uncurl her fingers to prove him wrong. Because she can’t.</p><p>“I could go on for another three hours, telling you everything from your posture to your speech pattern, but I think the more interesting bit is where all this began, so how about we go down memory lane, hm?” he questions, yet again, not waiting for a reply.</p><p>She sucks in a deep breath, as though to ready herself for a punch.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe that’s for the better.</em>
</p><p>“You didn’t get out of homeschooling until you were a teenager. You grew up sheltered, probably watched by a very concerned father, who hardly gave you any room to breathe. The man’s been the center of your life for as long as you can remember. You look up to him, you have since you were small. If you ever were small. Since an early age, you wanted to impress him. You wanted to be like him, fill those footsteps with your own. And inside your sheltered home, those dreams seemed right within reach.”</p><p>He watches her reactions or lack thereof. She just stands there, white-knuckled, expression caught between wanting to lash out and needing to restrain herself. Because she can’t be honest with herself.</p><p>
  <em>Most of us can’t.</em>
</p><p>“The staff was always kind to you, at least most of them were. You probably had one person at least who’s always been casting doubt in you since you were small. And to this day, you couldn’t put that past you. Probably that was the beginning of the constant fist-balling and lip-biting,” he continues “You grew up not having age peers around. You got praised for being so adult at such a young age, which gave you a bit of a high each time. You thought that this made you special, when it was really just telling you that you didn’t have any friends and were socially… rather inapt.”</p><p>She licks her lips, chews on her bottom lip. Jaime nearly laughs when he sees her futile attempt to unclench her wrists yet again, just to prove him wrong. But it won’t work. She can’t prove him anything but right.</p><p>
  <em>Because yeah, the body is a great traitor, isn’t it?</em>
</p><p>He flashes her a smile with no meaning. “You were the one to eventually convince your father to let you join high school. And in the retrospective, you probably should have stuck to homeschooling. The boys in school called you names. The girls laughed behind your back because you looked ridiculous to them. You came home crying every damn time until you decided that if you were accused of acting like a boy, you might just as well act the part. It didn’t make the laughter stop, but it gave you the means to punch whoever went too far. And that worked for a while.”</p><p>He sucks in air, blows it out like the cold, blue fumes of the cigarette he is craving.</p><p>“But then the hormones started kicking in. Teenagers, man. And suddenly, it was not just about being called ugly or pulling a prank on you. I bet they made fun of you by pretending to want to date you, just to out you as being stupid enough for believing that they may want you. Because they definitely didn’t and they just wanted to see you get all worked up over that fact. And boy, did it work! Every damn time. Though every damn time, you got better at hiding it, clenching your fists instead.”</p><p>She looks down. Jaime smiles. It’s like playing poker against someone who has the cards turned towards you. It’s almost unfair, but it gets the job done.</p><p>And that is what his life is all about these days.</p><p>Getting the job done.</p><p>Get it done before it’s done with him.</p><p>“You were too proud to admit to your dad that this was… not working out for you. That you were the butt end of every joke at school. You didn’t tell him half the stuff that went on in your life, just not to <em>burden</em> him, just to appear like you were in control of the consequences of your choices. The experiences you got during that time made you think that relationships just weren’t your thing. A nice enough excuse, so not to face the shit that was going in your life. You studied like a maniac instead, trained like a maniac, knocked them all into the dust to beat them in their favorite sports, and just caved in at your sheltered home as best as you could.”</p><p>She still averts her gaze, and no matter her best efforts, she can’t unclench her wrists. Jaime doesn’t bother to flash his fake smile while she’s not looking.</p><p>
  <em>Saves me at least a bit of tooth ache.</em>
</p><p>“Maybe you even tried dating once you got into college, only to realize that men have the emotional capacity of a bar of soap they should wash their filthy mouths with. You got involved in your father’s company once you were done studying, dived right into it. Even though the subject probably didn’t ever interest you – had you been honest with yourself. But that probably never was your forte. Because you still tried to please, tried to serve and be a good little girl soldier. More than anything, you wanted to make your father proud just like you did as a kid. That’s what you clung on to.”</p><p>Jaime chews on the inside of his cheek, hard. “Because you are his only living child and because you thought you had to fill your dead brother’s role as the heir you thought he deserved. But he got stuck with you instead. So you wanted to be the son, I mean <em>daughter</em>, you thought he needed you to be. Maybe you even thought about it every now and then, whether it’d been better if not your brother but you had drowned. How well he’d fare, had he been given the chance to grow up. Had he not drowned in the Narrow Sea…”</p><p>Jaime knows he is currently sinking way below the deepest depths of the Narrow Sea, but he will do what needs to be done to finish a job.</p><p>
  <em>Once you kill a guy from behind, there’s nothing to stop you, is there?</em>
</p><p>She looks up at him, then. “How do you…?”</p><p>Jaime just shakes his head, starting to feel tired. “I have friends who can access legal records. <em>Anyway</em>. You proved capable enough and business partners started tolerating you, despite your doubts. For a time, things seemed to pan out. You felt like you were finally in control. You saw your father being proud of you, probably introducing you as the future head of the company. And oh boy, did that bring you joy! Maybe it even made you a little wet.”</p><p>He can hear a sharp intake of air from her, which has his lips curl. It’s amazing how people stick to tiny details like an offensive line instead of seeing the bigger picture.</p><p>“But things didn’t get easier with time, they never do. Because you realized that your dad didn’t just seek someone to fill in the role as the head of family company once he resigned. You started to understand that he didn’t want his legacy to die with him. That he wanted you to have a family. The family he’d lost, safe for you. That he wanted his family not to end where his wife and children now laid in their graves.”</p><p>Jaime clenches and unclenches his jaw a few times to ease some of the ache in his teeth. “And the subservient, obedient daughter you were… still are… you wanted to give him that, too. I mean, it’s not like you were against the idea. You just didn’t think it was your thing, right? So you thought that maybe looking at business partners as potential partners would have better chances of success. Ran the numbers and saw higher probabilities there. You know, just how every good love story starts.”</p><p>The Silent Sister looks back down. What exactly she is staring at on the floor, he is not quite sure. But it doesn't matter either. Jaime is getting closer to the finishing line with every step. So the final curtain can fall and he can let go of the dead weight on the other end of the ropes he’s got to pull to act the part.</p><p>“Of course none met your standards. And those who did… didn’t want you. But then there was this one guy who’s acted all friendly to your father and who’s been making deals with him for so long. Someone to trust in, surely. So you willed yourself to date Mr. Wagstaff and he may have been way too old, but you said to yourself that maybe a guy who’s older wouldn’t act like a petulant child like the ones back in high school. You thought that maybe a guy with experience was a good compromise. Your way to be all your father wanted you to be. To be all you thought you wanted to be.”</p><p>
  <em>Though that was a lie, too, wasn’t it? And here I thought you were so good being honest, Sister.</em>
</p><p>“Turned out you miscalculated, something you only admitted to yourself by the time you accepted the proposal. Totally living every small girl’s dream.”</p><p>He laughs. She does not.</p><p>“Maybe he was a loser in bed. Maybe he had bad breath. Maybe he was simply a bastard who deserved a beating. It doesn’t really matter. What stands out is how it played out in the end. Because you didn’t just break off the engagement, you made it a <em>spectacle</em>. Why? Because you swallowed it for so long that you couldn’t help yourself anymore and just <em>had</em> to let it out for all to see. You unclenched that jaw, you unclenched those fists and you just <em>snapped</em>. For once, you didn’t control yourself and it felt maybe even better than sex. If you had it until now. And for the first time in your life, you were being perfectly honest with yourself. That <em>this</em> wasn’t you. That this was not who you wanted to be five years into the future. Regret comes so fast, doesn’t it?”</p><p>He laughs drily. Sometimes it comes even before a body hits the floor in a darkened corridor. Sometimes it comes by the time you turn around and walk into the light – the realization that you are fucked, no matter what.</p><p>And that’s when you have the choice to make the tragedy comedic by smiling, even if your teeth keep aching as your jaw keeps clenching.</p><p>“Sadly, everyone saw that unhinged side of you you’d been so careful to hide throughout the years. The part that wasn’t rational and composed. And so you went down in local history as Brienne the Beauty, a great beast of a woman any sane man should be afraid of.”</p><p>Her mouth opens and closes, not making a single sound. The Silent Sister’s breath shortens as Jaime keeps dropping the weights. And she won’t even try to dodge them, step away.</p><p>“The experience with Mr. Wagstaff completely destroyed your hopes for what you’d always secretly craved: to be a married woman, wearing flower-patterned dresses, prepping up peanut butter-jelly sandwiches for the kids playing outside. It destroyed your faith in the institution of marriage. It destroyed your belief that you could ever control your life in such a way to go down that path. It destroyed your faith in a happy ending story for you. Boohoo.”</p><p>Jaime licks his teeth. It’s a low blow, he knows, yet again. But it is the only language that woman seems to understand, he believes to know that, too.</p><p>“And then, things got even worse because your little act of defiance led to mistrust between your father and business partners. While they weren’t afraid of you beating them to pulp like the poor guy, they didn’t think you were capable of the job as your father’s future successor. They didn’t trust your abilities to control yourself or the business. And just like that, your childhood dream was in dire danger. You could no longer make daddy proud. You couldn’t surpass your brother, you couldn’t even keep up with whatever you made little Galladon out to be inside your head. Coz in the end, he is still just a dead boy that never got to grow up but only ever floated in the water, though he should have lived, but oh well.”</p><p><em>Damn</em>, he really needs that cigarette now.</p><p>“And so, you took yourself out of the equation and joined the Silent Sisters, signaling to anyone that you had no intention to run the family company anymore. Your only way of controlling the situation was by choosing your exit. And with one simple act, you killed two birds with one stone. You calmed business partners that you’d not be actively pursuing the company’s lead anymore, forcing your father into considering a successor outside the family. And you saved yourself the shame of ever having to have that conversation about family lineage with him ever again.”</p><p>Avoidance is a neat tool. Jaime makes use of it far too often himself, he is aware. But it gets the job done. It keeps you together when you are so brittle that just one more blow, one more touch, may make you crumble and turn to dust.</p><p>Jaime’s eyes focus back as they are flashed by blue. He can feel the sting in his chest, overpowering even the ache in his teeth.</p><p>“… If you think it impresses me to know that you went through some of the old news records of my brother’s death or my engagement and likely asked your lawyer and brother on some information about my older brother, then you are mistaken, Detective.”</p><p>Guts she has. He finds himself smiling, but unable to tell whether he means it or not.</p><p>After all, it’s time that he moves things to the great finale. So he can finally have a cigarette and focus on what matters, on what he can do. On the darkness waiting for him.</p><p>“You are desperate for control you can’t gain in life. You try to find it in perfect reports and immaculate lines of argumentation. But any effort is undercut the moment you feel like you have to pick a fight. Because that is when your real side shines through, and it’s not immaculate, it’s not perfect, it’s not neat. It’s messy and angry and consuming.”</p><p>
  <em>It is more like me than you’d ever want it to be, Sister. So better run while you still can.</em>
</p><p>Because Jaime can’t run anymore, safe for the one direction leading him down the path of no return.</p><p>She blinks, but that does not stop him. “You are scared of your own body, the strength it has. Have been since you were a kid. Because you’ve been taught by boys and girls your age that you are scary, a great lumbering beast that will crush anything in her way. And you find reassurance behind the gray robes because they give you a false sense of security, of control, over a body you learned to hate.”</p><p>The act just carries on, and there is no round of applause. But Jaime’s not waiting for it either. After all, it’s a tragedy.</p><p>“You can’t trust men because you always compare them to the boys who laughed at you when you were a child, a teenager, a grown-ass woman. You desperately seek validation for what you do because you can’t find it in marriage, can’t find it in being hailed for good looks or charming character, being the daughter you always wanted to be for your father. You seek approval so desperately even though you claim not to care. And you think that if you strip all away that makes people laugh, hiding that traitor of a body behind gray trousers and turtlenecks and a veil, they will see you for who you are, your essential you, and appreciate you as you do deserve.”</p><p>He leans forward, readying himself to cut another tie, let go of a big weight.</p><p>“You need that approval to maintain some sense of self. That your struggles and sacrifices were worthwhile. That you learned from your past mistakes and that the past no longer gets to you. That it no longer defines you, controls you. After all, you left it all behind. But one callback and you are right back in high school, crying your eyes out in the girls’ bathroom. Unhinged and broken with no ounce of control.”</p><p>He smiles. She doesn’t.</p><p>“You are a hopeless romantic. Because you still think the guy is out there who will fix that messed-up life of yours, fix you, rescue you, cherish you, love you. Who will come in as the shining knight in armor. Who will treat you right and carry you into a better life. Even though you stepped into the role yourself, hoping to somehow make it happen without the guy coming along. But that is the issue: deep down, you are still waiting, and he ain’t coming.”</p><p>He sucks in a deep breath, tasting the stale air on the tip of his tongue. He puts his smile in place for her to see, waits for her to look at him, wide-eyed, fighting, resisting it. It’s cruel, he knows.</p><p>“And just as deep down, you want to date. You want to <em>fuck</em>. You want to be fucked. You want to be seen as a woman, even as you keep hiding it. You want to feel that body you learned to hate. You want to lose control, but only to someone you can trust. You want to be held close and kissed, rough. You want someone to overpower you, tear off your clothes and make you scream for the Gods as you come undone after years of not getting anything beyond what the five finger discount may provide. You want to lose yourself in lust and desire and feel no ounce of shame for that body anymore. To either remember that sensation again or get to know just what it is like.”</p><p>The Silent Sister says nothing, just swallows. But her eyes scream it back at him, so Jaime doesn’t even have to try hard to read her. She lays it right open.</p><p>“But you can’t allow yourself that luxury. You took the vows. And you shall be damned if you break an oath. Ever. And even if you did, you couldn’t possibly do that, right? Because you wouldn’t let anyone near close that armor of yours. You wouldn’t ever let someone have that much control over you, would you?”</p><p>And while he keeps chipping away at it, Jaime knows she will keep wearing that armor. It’s part of her, and no power on this earth can remove it, most likely.  </p><p>“It’s for that same reason that you have virtually no friends. You can’t trust anyone. Because trust means a lack of control. Even if you had acquaintances, none of them would know what you truly thought or felt. You’d be an obedient little puppy, tagging after them, waggling your tail. You can’t trust anyone, and so you can’t let anyone other than you in control. But if you lose control, you are fucked. Because you are left with nothing but crippling self-doubt and fantasies of what could have been, had you done a hundred things differently.”</p><p>He chews on his bottom lip.</p><p>“You mistake service with affection. Servitude with friendship. Self-sacrifice with love.”</p><p>Jaime blows out air through his nostrils. He just wants that shit to be over. He is tired, his muscles ache, his teeth ache. Everything just hurts and he needs a cigarette.</p><p>“In the end, you are serving yourself with it all, even when serving the dead you claim to be the spokesperson for. You want to save them to save yourself. And you want to get into action here now because, deep down, just talking to the dead does not satisfy. Because you actually know that all you do is apply band-aids to gunshot wounds that already bled dry. You volunteered to this investigation first chance you got to finally feel useful. To gain control over something you found yourself battling against in a futile attempt for the past years. Because you think you made the wrong decision but are too stubborn to walk back now that you took the vows. As I said, you are a woman on a mission. And that’s what I have no need for. And that is why you need to learn your place.”</p><p>He knows he is merely tipping the glass over until the water comes spilling out. It’s all just little stabs to throw her off-balance and finally force her to take the fall and yield.</p><p>“It’s for that same reason you don’t call your father because you don’t want him to doubt you. Or else you will end up doubting yourself. You probably try your best to only call when it’s really necessary. And just like that, you torpedo every meaningful relationship you ever had to ostracize yourself further. And in that way, like it or not, Sister, you are not unlike me: We tend to be better off for ourselves. Just that I can admit it at least that I am fine only ever trusting myself.”</p><p>Damn, he feels so tired. Just why won’t she go down already? He doesn’t want to keep cutting ropes and dropping weights. He just wants this to be over so he can have a cigarette and continue his rocky path down to perdition.</p><p>“Truth though is that no one is gonna come to the rescue for you. You know it, but you still foolishly hope. Maybe even pray. And you hide those hopes behind the armor of your necklace and gray clothes and veil,” he tells her, leaning forward on his chair.</p><p>“But here is the ugly truth, Sister: Even if you solve this case and get me to cheer you on for your abilities, even if you become the detective septa you envision yourself to be, even if you are right in the center of it and beat up some bad guys… The girl on your table remains dead. Those girls you thought you saved still work as prostitutes and may very well end up dead in a roadside ditch any of these days. Your dead brother stays dead,” he continues.</p><p>Comforting as it may be to think yourself a spokesperson for the dead, in the end, the dead don’t talk because they are dead and will remain dead. Because some bastard decided that their lives were not worthwhile or had to end for some fucked-up reason.</p><p>“You don’t save anyone, now from here or right at the scene. I don’t save anyone either. Even when we get the bad guys, we don’t make anyone immortal or revive them from the dead – <em>thank the Seven</em>. And your soul-searching won’t help you or me or those you mean to protect. It only causes risk and trouble. And you know it. You know it all. You are smart, after all. Analytical down to the notch.”</p><p>He shakes his head with a sigh.</p><p>“But you choose to forget it because if you don’t have that vision, then all you have is a throwaway career and the cheap romcom movie ending you crave so desperately that you are probably creaming in your panties every night, fantasizing and dreaming about it. And honestly, I am not here for that kind of bullshit. If you want to redeem yourself to your dad, call more often or move back home. I bet he’ll be delighted. If you want to become a detective, join the fuckin’ academy at last. Or if you want to marry and have kids, just finally shake it up with a guy who’s passable enough and be done with it. Shit.”</p><p>It doesn’t have to be that complicated, and that’s where they walk different paths. Because in contrast to him, that woman would have any chance to live a life that’s perhaps not perfect, maybe not even good, but at the very least not the shit show it’s been for him for the past years.</p><p>
  <em>We both threw away our career with one act of violence, but trust me in this, Sister: Your shadow will always pale in the presence of mine.</em>
</p><p>“So? Anything left to say?” Jaime asks.</p><p>Either she is going to lash out now or walk away.</p><p>
  <em>But which will she choose…?</em>
</p><p>“… Just that you also confirmed my hypothesis right now,” the Silent Sister then says, not lifting her gaze once.</p><p>Jaime blinks. “Oh?”</p><p>Maybe there’s a third option after all. <em>Interesting</em>.</p><p>“You <em>are</em> a disappointment,” the Silent Sister declares.</p><p>Jaime leans his head back, laughing. “Oh, you wound me.”</p><p>“… It surely is impressive what you gathered from the research that was done at your behest and your own observations. But if you had paid better attention to details, as one should do in your line of work, you should have understood that there are other reasons why I only have a few numbers saved to my phone, for instance. Because I don’t want numbers saved when I am working an active case. Because I know most phone numbers by heart and only saved those that I wanted on speed dial. And just for your information, I call my father at least once a week. I don’t see him as often because I am acutely aware what my presence on the island entails when business partners are around – because, as you rightly assumed, I make myself rare around them so not to harm the family business any further.”</p><p>He smiles. “Well, we can’t always get a hundred percent.”</p><p>
  <em>Still clinging to the details to somehow remain right. Now who’s the one trying to feel powerful here, Sister?</em>
</p><p>“It is a pity to see a man refusing to be the best he could be just because he turned so bitter that he can’t help but be sorry for himself all day long,” she goes on to say, looking aside.</p><p>Jaime sticks his tongue into the inside of his cheek.</p><p>The Silent Sister shakes her head, her fists unclenching for a moment there.</p><p>Is that what defeat looks like? Or is that what winning looks like? Jaime is no longer sure. What did it say in the script? How had he written out that tragedy?</p><p>“But it can’t seem to be helped,” the septa concludes. “And your salvation is your affair as much as my salvation is mine. The Gods can only help those who are willing.”</p><p>“The Gods don’t help even the willing,” Jaime spats. “How else are people still desperately praying to them in the gutter or as they are about to die? You think Ros didn’t pray? Or Yarwick? Or any of the poor bastards people like Aerys Targaryen cooked alive? They all pray and scream for their gods, but where are they? Right, busy being mighty instead of actually helping. So fuck salvation. Fuck the Gods.”</p><p>“And you can curse the Gods all you want, but in the end, you only have yourself to blame, Detective. You want to see an enemy in me because I don’t let you do as you please as everyone else around here seems to do. You just grew too comfortable in not having to bother to care,” she tells him. “You just can’t stomach it to be called upon it because you’d have to do what you do so well for anyone but yourself: to take a good look at yourself in the mirror and find the wrongs in <em>your</em> ways.”</p><p>He laughs, almost giggles, licking his teeth as those fuckers won’t ever bleed. “I don’t claim to be anything less than a sinner, Sister. I am not that hypocritical, in contrast to some others.”</p><p>He knows he is beyond fucked, beyond fixable. And that’s why he can’t have someone trying to do just that. It only raises false hopes, foolish expectations of better times that won’t ever come.</p><p>“Maybe I am a hypocrite, but at the very least, I make my promises matter, I make my words matter as I stand by them,” the septa retorts. “And I don’t lie just to forward my own interest.”</p><p>“Yeah, you spew out the truth to anyone who asks to forward yours. So what? And that may work for you, but it doesn’t work for me. There’s enough people who think they need to know exactly what I am doing, and I really need them not to know what exactly I am doing to be able to do what I am doing. To stop murderers from chopping people apart or carve sigils into women’s lady bits.”</p><p>“At this point I am not too sure whether you know exactly what you are doing,” she scoffs.</p><p>He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Really?”</p><p>“You break protocol, you drink on the job. To me, that doesn’t exactly speak for being in control, knowing what you are doing,” she points out to him.</p><p>“Ah, so you think I am unhinged?” he sniggers. “I am aware of my boundaries, much in contrast to you as you are so careful that you always give them a wide berth only just in case.”</p><p>Jaime played this game for too damn long to know exactly where the stage ends, how far he can walk along the rim before falling into the darkness below. He knows the line, and if he crosses it, he will do it on purpose.</p><p>“You waste so much time and energy on showing me the ropes that you seem oddly out of focus for the task on hand.”</p><p>“Then help me carry out the task, hm? As a true consultant? How about we spin it like that? Does that help you rest more easily? To think that you were my salvation? Have at it, then, Sister,” he taunts her, shaking his head.</p><p>Jaime knows that it’s too late for salvation for him anyway. But it’s a comfortable lie to tell, isn’t it?</p><p>“Save me by letting me do things my way. Because if there is any truth to what you told me some time back, you should know that even if you don’t like how I do this job, I get it done. So let me get it done and don’t be difficult about it. You want to fulfill your mission? You want to be sure that fewer people fall victim to the guy and his sick obsession? Let me do it and I will finish it. Because that is something I can promise you: I don’t stop short. I didn’t with Aerys Targaryen, I won’t with this guy. That’s what I am going to do till the fuckin’ day I finally die. You’ve got my word for it, as little as it may mean to you. That’s one of your precious oaths, only just for you, Sister. So? What can you promise me in turn?”</p><p>She falls silent for a long moment. But it’s different from before, Jaime can tell. The woman isn’t trying to come up with a smart reply, a great rebuttal. The wheels aren’t turning. They are standing still. Because they ran their course and she just has to decide what to do with it.</p><p>
  <em>Because we don’t get to choose, most of the time.</em>
</p><p>Even less so when he is the one forcing her hand, making her move to the edge of the stage to take her final bow. But there is no grand finale, no final battle. Her shoulders sink. It is not resignation, really, but something is turning inside her, Jaime can see it move, move her.</p><p>“… You are getting lucky today, Detective. This whole affair is undoubtedly slowing us down, I see that now, too. If you can’t work with me, you can’t do your job. That is plainly logic. And yes, my purpose is to prevent future deaths, however silly that may seem to you, coming from a pathologist like me.”</p><p>She wets her lips. Jaime can see defeat slipping into her posture, but not from his blows but from her own.</p><p>
  <em>How strange, how strange.</em>
</p><p>But that’s the thing with improvised theater, you never know exactly where people move. There is at least a small surprise no matter how well you were prepared, walking onto the stage and letting the lights blind you.</p><p>“I will do my part. So that you can do yours, however you choose. Send me as many photographs and details as possible and forward me any new information you have. You should have my phone number by now, after all.”</p><p>Jaime smiles at her, ignoring the ache in his teeth, longing for the cigarette to burn closer and closer to his mouth.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all. </em>
</p><p>“I hope we don’t part with hurt feelings here, Sister.” His huffed laughter is even hollower than his smile. Jaime feels out of breath, as though he ran a bloody marathon.</p><p>“Don’t overestimate yourself, Detective. It takes a lot more to get my feelings hurt,” the Silent Sister replies, clutching the seven-pointed star necklace. “After all, I always wear an armor, don’t I? You don’t get anywhere near underneath it.”</p><p>Jaime watches her starting to move forward. Oddly enough, her fists are not clenched anymore. And he is not sure whether it’s relief or defeat at this point, to see, to notice this. But why should he care? He won, didn’t he?</p><p>The Silent Sister gathers her things and slips into her woolen coat.</p><p>“No seven blessings for me?” he asks, watching her go through the motions.  </p><p>“Not that you care, but I do pray that the Crone may guide you, Detective. You seem to have lost the light long time ago,” she answers, stepping towards him.</p><p>Jaime blinks as she snaps the phone out of his hand and pockets it before he can protest in any way. Not that he would. After all, it was a prop and it served its purpose.</p><p>“Much appreciated,” he answers, suddenly feeling numb.</p><p>“Seven blessings to you, Mr. Lannister.”</p><p>And he can hear her think the addendum <em>Kingslayer</em> right with those last few hissed words. Jaime doesn’t turn to watch her head to the door. He can hear her footsteps growing fainter as the Silent Sister walks through it and gets eaten up by the shadows waiting beyond.</p><p>And just like that, there is silence. The final act is finished. The deed is done.</p><p>Oddly enough, Jaime doesn’t feel the satisfaction he anticipated to flood him, however short-lived he knew it would be. After all, he is alone now again, finally left without distractions, keeping his mind away from the task at hand, from the only purpose this shit life didn’t yet strip away from him.</p><p>But his mind is blank, he feels exhausted, and the endorphins won’t come. Even the idea of getting out a cigarette makes him want to gag.</p><p>There is no final round of applause.</p><p>And he knew that, of course, deep down he did.</p><p>Because in a tragedy, there are no winners. There never are.</p><p>
  <em>Everyone is just a fuckin’ loser.</em>
</p><p>Because they keep playing their roles, keep playing a game of no winners.</p><p>Jaime closes his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>There it is.</em>
</p><p>The final curtain. And it is already burning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Spite Can Be a Great Motivator</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime "enjoys" his freedom to work by himself again. Brienne tries her best to stay afloat, in more than one way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone, thanks for you brave souls sticking with psychologically kinda unhealthy tale - and that in spite of my shit updating. I appreciate you all for sticking with me, even being so kind to leave kudos and comments. They really keep me at it, so thanks!</p><p>I hope you'll enjoy that installment to have JB simmer in their misery a while longer.</p><p>Much love! ♥♥♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Day one of his freedom, and Jaime knows he should be right in his game, but he feels like he unlearned every bloody skill he ever acquired in too many years of doing this shit job.</p><p>When Jaime left the morgue for good and sat down in front of his wall of madness after his little theater, he was sure the usual would happen upon his return to the dark side behind the curtain. That the world would peel away until he could feel Yarwick’s blood trickling down his fingertips, could hear Ros screaming at him to stop, please stop, could smell the faint scent of almonds as her cries died out. That he could immerse himself in the darkness of the murderer, sink as deep as he’d have to go, to find familiar darkness and bring it to light.</p><p>Because the septa no longer distracted him, no longer forced his gaze elsewhere, questioning things he can’t doubt to do what needs to be done, making him think about issues that shouldn’t concern him on active duty. But it did nothing of the sort.</p><p>
  <em>But no such luck.</em>
</p><p>Jaime spent the remains of the night adding chaos to the wall, slipping in and out of the darkness, far too often tracking down the narrow corridors leading into his own.</p><p>
  <em>Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.</em>
</p><p>Just why won’t that murderer make sense to him? Why can’t he seem to dive as deep as he is used to? As much as he trained himself to bear?</p><p>Murderers with religious fanatics to back them up are not as complicated as films tend to make them out to be. They just want to feel big and found some higher purpose by their own design. Maybe it’s two, it doesn’t matter. He can’t put his finger on it, can’t even get close enough to touch it. And that is what is so very unnerving, even for him. This is nothing unfamiliar, it’s a darkness he’s seen in all kinds of shades before. And yet, there is no face, no contour to that personality, or personalities.</p><p>Besides the obvious, besides that which is blatantly out there, Jaime finds nothing, no matter how often he goes back to Castle Black inside his mind, smashes Yarwick’s head to pieces, no matter how often he watches Ros dangle from the ceiling like an angel without wings. It all keeps slipping through his fingers like black sand.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe pulling another all-nighter was not the brightest idea after all. Though then again, when has it ever been?</em>
</p><p>Jaime grunts, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets until colorful dots spark up behind his closed eyelids. In the end, they always turn green and he has to open his eyes wide to let the bright light take the edge of green away.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Last time it was that bad was when he found out about Ned’s oh so tactful ways to tell Jaime to fuck himself.</p><p>
  <em>Leave it to Ned Stark to prove to be such a miserable pain in the ass that it’d even put the Sister to shame.</em>
</p><p>Though he’d rather not admit it, it did something to Jaime. It came just at the wrong time, too, right after the trial, when Jaime was still easing back into the darkness he’d willingly allowed to take over him.</p><p>Jaime wasn’t blind to it that he’d face hardships coming back. Misgiving. Glances. Whispers behind the back. Soft murmurs and quick turns of the head. And while he likes to say he doesn’t care, Jaime <em>does</em> care, he just got better over time to ignore it and focus on what’s important instead.</p><p>And that should have been it. Because it’s difficult enough to keep it together when you feel like falling apart, when you feel oh so tempted to literally bite the bullet by just stuffing the gun in your mouth and blow your brains out. But when he came back, he was ready for this. What Jaime wasn’t ready for was this poor attempt at amateur theater performances.</p><p>Jaime dutifully played the part not to care, so not to give Ned the satisfaction, but it <em>did</em> get under his skin, far too deep. More than it ever should have. Because it was nothing, in the end. A poor attempt, badly executed, that amounted to absolutely nothing but hot air and more misgiving to bloom between them.</p><p>
  <em>Because Ned Stark may have been many things, but certainly no actor.</em>
</p><p>It’s not like Jaime trusted anyone at the department much. That was even before good old dead Ned assigned him to a task force with some forgettable faces including his pet dog Jory <em>what’s his last name</em>? Jaime never bothered to look it up. It didn’t matter either. It was so damn obvious that it only ever surprised Jaime that Ned was stupid enough to attempt to fool a profiler.</p><p>
  <em>You can’t profile a profiler unless you are a profiler. That’s one of the first things you should have learned on the job, Neddy Boy. Or did you skip that lesson, writing love letters to Robert instead of your wife?</em>
</p><p>But much like it is now, Jaime felt no ounce of satisfaction to play them off against themselves and their utter stupidity. Because he knew he’d be playing himself, too, and Jaime knows himself to win even when he is fuckin’ well losing. At the very least it achieved this one thing: After that shit attempt, Ned Stark never bothered again, and didn’t ever try again to place him in a team with more watch dogs, waggling their tales at his every command.</p><p>
  <em>And then he died and there was one problem less in my world. Just that ten more popped out to take its place. Because that’s also the fuckin’ story of my life.</em>
</p><p>In the end, Meryn Trant was the perfect prop for him, like the phone was for the septa. Trant served him fine to expose Ned’s shitty attempts at being a theater director. That guy was a good cop, no doubt, but he didn’t know how to play the game, which made all of this ordeal all the more infuriating for Jaime. To have the audacity to think to outsmart him in something he spent the worst part of his life learning? That kind of arrogance would even put a Lannister to shame.</p><p>Then again, maybe Jaime has to be thankful to the guy, looking back. It made him realize, at the very least, that he was right in wanting to work alone. If no one has your back, you don’t have to watch out for getting stabbed.</p><p>
  <em>Though I knew that well before Ned came along. I knew that ever since I was in that tunnel and never made it quite out again.</em>
</p><p>Nonetheless, it took its toll on him, and that still pisses Jaime off to no end. It got to him because he thought people understood at least that one thing: he got the job done. His attitude never stood in the way of it. It made him cautious when talking to supposed colleagues. Because who knows if Robert doesn’t try to reminiscent over good old dead Ned by reviving the practice of snitching on him?</p><p>And he surely won’t stop short from squeezing the truths out of a woman oh too willing to speak them, no matter the title of her profession.</p><p>
  <em>Ring-ring.</em>
</p><p>Jaime scratches his beard as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, absent-mindedly staring at his wall of madness turning greener by the second. “Please tell me you have information on… something, anything, really.”</p><p>“Hey, Tyrion, how are you? I hope you are well. After all, you are my most beloved baby brother. Oh thanks, I am doing good…”</p><p>Jaime sighs, scratching the back of his head. “I will send you flowers and chocolate later. And some of those golden condoms you like so much. C’mon now, a detective is in need of a fix.”</p><p>“You will have all details about the coin in your inbox once we get off the phone again,” the younger man assures him, which makes Jaime smirk. “You really are a treat.”</p><p>“Don’t thank me too early. It’s not at all that grand. While the coin is a rare item, it’s not so rare that it will limit the number of suspects significantly. My friend let me know that such coins are often sold online or privately in person, so you won’t have much luck with tracing it back to seller or buyer. My friend could date it back, but it was no special year that would interest a collector within the community. So you won’t have much luck digging through chat groups or whatever else,” Tyrion warns him.</p><p>Jaime rolls his shoulders. “Disappointing, but better than nothing, thanks. Anything else?”</p><p>“We can pester Littlefinger for a while, but sadly, not too much without getting into territory we may use to build an actual case with. But for that we need more evidence,” the younger brother informs him. “Right now, we only have substantial proof that he is a douche with the appeal of a rabid ferret.”</p><p>“Fine by me. I just want him to bleed a bit.”</p><p>And it is always good to have one player move unawares. If Littlefinger makes a move, they may get closer to the guy Jaime can’t put his finger on, no matter how hard he stares at his wall of madness.</p><p>“You sound even more depressed than usual, brother dear.”</p><p>“I am smiling like a rainbow is shooting out of my ass, what are you saying?” Jaime huffs.</p><p>“I assume you and the Silent Sister are having a fight?”</p><p>“No, we had a <em>confrontation</em>, because that’s what adults do,” Jaime argues. “She left me to my affairs and now acts as a consultant as I had it intended.”</p><p>“So you got what you wanted.”</p><p>“Hence the rainbow shooting out of my ass.”</p><p>“I mean, not to be an <em>ass</em> about it, but you seemed more enthusiastic when she was around to pester you,” the younger man notes – and Jaime can hear that shit-eating grin through the phone, which starts to really piss him off.</p><p>“Anger can be a great fuel,” Jaime replies.</p><p>
  <em>Like spite can be a great motivator. </em>
</p><p>“Well, maybe you need the fuel to run the engine,” his brother ponders, which has Jaime only ever huff. “Whatever.”</p><p>“I told you often enough that I don’t think it’s healthy that you and I are best friends. We are barely functioning on our own.”</p><p>“… When are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?” Jaime asks bluntly. The little pause tells him yet again that he is right. Of course he is. He is a profiler after all. That shit has to be good for some cheap magic tricks. It’s a bit cruel, but so is Tyrion. It’s always been a give and take between the two. So no feelings hurt, no questions asked.</p><p>That’s one of those things that makes his relationship with his little brother more special than people will even begin to comprehend. Jaime doesn’t have to act around his brother, and even when he does, both know it to be an act and take it as such. Tyrion went through enough shit during his childhood and will for the rest of his days due to how he looks. A little stab here or a joke there won’t ever cut him as deep as it does people who just didn’t get a taste of the real world yet.</p><p>“I don’t have girlfriends, I have women I can book to enjoy all pleasures of the body and soul whenever I am in need. All just one phone call away,” the younger man answers. “And I want things to stay that way. I can’t commit to that kind of commitment. My cock enjoys the variety far too much.”</p><p>“Which is why she is probably coming out of that business herself,” Jaime concludes, the small silence on the other end of the line telling him all he needs to know. “Anyway, make sure to tell her hi from me once you get back home.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>Jaime grins. “You just hate it that I am right about that messy head of yours.”</p><p>“Tell the Silent Sister hi from me once you apologized to her.”</p><p>“I won’t apologize to her, don’t make yourself ridiculous,” Jaime snorts, leaning his head back. He can’t remember the last time he apologized to anyone in all honest. And he reckons it’s better that way. Jaime worked hard enough to live a life without owing anyone explanation, without needing absolution from anyone.</p><p>
  <em>The perks of being a sinner straight on the way down to the Seven Hells.</em>
</p><p>“Right. Might be for the better. Or else we may have to <em>confront</em> things we’d rather never speak of,” the younger man huffs. “Or Gods forbid, change.”</p><p>“Precisely, brother dear. Thinking about it, it might have been for the better if I had said during the hearing that I was sorry for killing Aerys. Maybe the guys wouldn’t give me the stink eye then,” Jaime muses. “Who knows?”</p><p>He knows, but Jaime also knows that if he were to ask someone, that would surely be one of those great advices or comments he’d receive.</p><p>“I doubt it,” Tyrion replies, but then adds in a more serious tone of voice, “And anyway, you didn’t murder Aerys Targaryen, you executed a serial killer in self-defense, remember?”</p><p>Jaime lost count of the many times Tyrion implored him to always repeat those lines whenever asked a question by the lawyers or the judge.</p><p>“Did you murder Aerys Targaryen?” – <em>No. I executed a dangerous criminal.</em></p><p>“Why did you shoot him?” – <em>I was acting in self-defense.</em></p><p>“Did it give you gratification?” – <em>I couldn’t think about it because I was acting in self-defense.</em></p><p>Jaime wanted to ram his head against a mirror while rehearsing those lines over and over again. Because he wanted to scream at them that he murdered him and didn’t regret that one bit. That he shot him so that no more people burned in fuckin’ wildfire. That it felt like justice, however short-lived, but that even when it stopped to feel like it, it still was. Because justice comes at a price only few are willing to pay.</p><p>
  <em>Because the currency is your own morality, it turns out. It takes all of your goodness to undo some of the badness in others. So yeah, justice ain’t cheap.</em>
</p><p>But Tyrion built the case to get him out. That was the game. Those were the stage directions, the rules to play by. Had he acted out that part that he wanted, Jaime would be rotting in some prison cell for the rest of his days and he would make his phone calls in a tiny booth next to men he’d fear to drop his soap in front in the community showers.</p><p>The only thing that made him stick with it was that one sentence Tyrion said to him when Jaime was just about done with this shit and wanted to scream it at the judge: “If you do this, Aerys already won. If you do this, he will finish it, not you. He gets to tell your story, not you. If you do this, you won’t save anyone ever again. So what do you choose?”</p><p>Jaime chose on judgment day, and it won him his bloody freedom. The job is all he has now, safe for Tyrion. And if he can’t do his job anymore, he’s fucked anyway.</p><p>
  <em>I really am in need of a fix, aren’t I?</em>
</p><p>“Officially, I executed the guy. Unofficially, I enjoyed every second of it to see the life drain from his eyes,” Jaime sighs.</p><p>There are things he is sorry for regarding that man’s death, especially what led up to it, but Jaime shall be damned if he lets the world get that bit of him, too. He has any intention to take that with him to a shallow grave only his brother will visit once it’s time.</p><p>“Yeah, so much to the rainbow shooting out of your ass,” Tyrion scoffs.</p><p>“I am peachy!”</p><p>“You hate peaches,” Tyrion huffs, before adding quietly, “Are you sure you are alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s fine.”</p><p>“You know you can come by after work. We could have some drinks, think about the good old times. Finally hook you up with a girl after Gods know how long you only had a sock as your bed companion,” Tyrion offers. “I’d even play your wingman for a change.”</p><p>“Yeah, reminiscent about entitled yet shitty childhoods and the long round of fuck-ups that led us to where we are. I think I’ll pass,” Jaime answers, biting the inside of his cheek. “And for the record, I don’t need a sock for that. Five finger discount works just fine. Guys who jerk off in socks also keep them on during sex. And guys who do that are bad at sex. That’s just a matter of fact.”</p><p>He wasn’t much into dating even before the Aerys thing happened. Jaime had been in a long relationship with this shit job since he was quite young. Then you don’t have the time for a committed romantic relationship deserving of the title. Sure, he’s had his share, had some flings left and right, but nothing ever truly stuck. No one stuck around. And after the court case was dealt with, Jaime decided that he’d rather spare any person the trouble of having to put up with the shit which are the remains of his shit life.</p><p>
  <em>Relationships are meant to lead into a future, but if you have none in sight, what’s the point?</em>
</p><p>The only promising bit of going out for drinks with Tyrion would be the alcohol making him forget for a few hours. But he is not the focus of attention here. The Sister isn’t either. That was the whole point of the theater in the morgue. This is not about them and their petty little problems. This is about the dead people hanging on his wall of madness. This is about making the world quickly forget about that fucker, too. So that one won’t have a legacy, no way of reaching into the future.</p><p>“Okay. I will let you know if I get something else, but it’s looking pretty thin, given the information you could share. I am kind of hoping the Silent Sister will find something for you. She definitely knows her prayers. And maybe that’s what we need,” Tyrion tells him.</p><p>Jaime shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “Trust me, if you catch me praying, you will know that we are royally fucked.”</p><p>
  <em>If I am praying, judgment day has long since come and no one will be saved. Because I am the last those fuckers would ever help.</em>
</p><p>“Alright, I have to talk to Stannis little time soon. You bet that’s no conversation I am looking forward to. That guy’s about as funny as Cersei’s is kind,” Tyrion huffs.</p><p>Jaime wrinkles his nose. “I thought he was no longer doing as many cases to focus on his political career.”</p><p>He heard Robert talk about it some time back, though Jaime tends to zone in and out when the chief babbles his way through conversation. Even more so when it comes to Stannis Baratheon. That guy has about as much charisma as Meryn fuckin’ Trant.</p><p>“I think he wants to let me know <em>personally</em> that he will take a break as the judge for the district for the sake of his political career. He is so dramatic that he will want a meeting instead of just marking it in the calendar or sending an e-mail like any damned normal person would. But then again, that guy wasn’t normal long before he had a reason to no longer be normal.”</p><p>“Well, none of us are normal,” Jaime sighs. Though he gets the point. Stannis always struck him as the embodiment of the middle child. The guy whose name you forget first when you are introduced at a social gathering. The guy who never leaves a lasting impression. The one you forget about all too quickly at a dinner party, even though you talked to him for an hour.  Stannis never stood out, even less so when compared to his more outgoing brothers. Robert and Renly understand to gravitate peoples’ attention to them, whereas it just dribbles down this guy.</p><p>That was why it never came as a surprise to Jaime that Renly would try his luck in politics. Stannis was the big surprise, actually. Sure, the guy always had ambitions. <em>Middle child, after all</em>. But that man isn’t charismatic, isn’t charming. He doesn’t know how to create excitement about his person, how to inspire. And yet, he apparently won the local elections at Dragonstone in a landslide.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe lots of middle children there, too, feeling finally heard.</em>
</p><p>“Just stay clear of his personal assistant,” Jaime advises the younger man.</p><p>“The red lady is cookoo. I know to stay clear of crazy women. If not for her, he wouldn’t be running, trust me,” Tyrion snorts.</p><p>In the end, politics are just another kind of religion, too. Both bloom in the face of crisis and social overturn. And their faithful followers are ready to throw any morality overboard just to serve their gods, now be it the Old Gods, the New, R’hllor, or good old money. In the end, it’s always about power and who gets to enforce it.</p><p>Which may be the reason for Stannis’s landslide win at Dragonstone, against <em>all</em> odds of his character. That woman is the reason for it, yes, Jaime is quite sure. The slogans for religious upheaval, for a return to principles and apocalyptic visions that can only be shed in light by their damned Azor Ahai or whatever they call him – it sells about as well as sex.</p><p>When economy and politics seem somewhat at a scramble, <em>and they always do</em>, people turn to the comforts of religion all too easily. Even more so when the preachers offer very clear instructions, neat lines of what you can and can’t do. And the faith of R’hllor gives it all to you. There is good and bad. There is lightness and darkness. There is no in-between, no shades of gray. Just black and white. Fire and ice.</p><p>Jaime tends to think that you can interchange the religions to the same result. People need some deity to blame, to turn to, to offer comfort when their lives are plain and simple shit. They want someone to tell them what to do and how to act, because the world is so very complicated that people don’t know how to move out of their own misery. If you entrust your fate into the hands a higher power, you don’t have to think, don’t have to question. You just have to believe and that’s it. You have an explanation for every question. You have a justification for every critique and action. You have direction for every wrong turn you are about to take.</p><p><em>Though the Silent Sister would probably very much disagree on that matter</em>, he muses.</p><p>“Rest assured that every family is fucked up in their own special way,” Jaime comments. “Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, all screwed.”</p><p>“I will drink to that later,” Tyrion sniggers. “Okay, I gotta go. <em>Of course</em> the guy comes ten minutes early. I can hear those red stilettos from half a mile away. Let’s hope she won’t convert me.”</p><p>“You can’t convert if you don’t believe,” Jaime comments.</p><p>“I believe in the God of Wine and Tits.”</p><p>“You made that one up.”</p><p>“Isn’t that the whole point of religion?”</p><p>“And the fact that you have that thought means you don’t believe, you genius,” Jaime huffs, smirking.</p><p>“Maybe she converts me to actually believe in her burning boss man.”</p><p>“Make sure not to call him that in her presence,” Jaime warns him. “She may not take that kindly.”</p><p>“Now you have tempted me to the point that I want to sin.”</p><p>Jaime shakes his head. “May the Seven be with you when you call upon the burning boss man.”</p><p>“Love you, too.”</p><p>The detective hangs up, then, and stuffs the phone back into his pocket. With a sigh, he stands up and gets on his computer to check the information on the coin.</p><p>He is free, at least, to focus on this. And so long he doesn’t close his eyes too long, he won’t burn yet either. And that may very well be the best Jaime can hope for.</p><p>Though he does not believe.</p><p>
  <em>Of course.</em>
</p><p>Because judgment day has not yet come.</p><p>It can’t come.</p><p>
  <em>Not yet.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Brienne sighs as she leans her head back in the bathtub. She can’t remember the last time she actually took a bath. At the convent, they only have showers. Extensive baths are considered a waste of time better devoted to the service to the Seven. But the shower head hangs too low for her and Brienne doesn’t want to awkwardly crouch under it unless she has to.</p><p>
  <em>The Seven hopefully won’t mind.</em>
</p><p>Not that the bathtub is awfully comfortable, but she fits in better than she does into most, as tall as she is. At the very least, it takes her mind off of her apparent anger Brienne still feels over how the detective treated her before she left the morgue.</p><p><em>After I yielded</em>, she thinking, grinding her teeth. She was about as surprised as the detective was when she announced she’d give him what he asked for. Brienne didn’t want to, but she saw no other way. At least she saw no other way that would not involve tainting her work and efforts to speak for the dead with her issues or his.</p><p>
  <em>How did dad always say? A wise man changes his mind. A fool never will. And the same goes for wise women. </em>
</p><p>Not that it prevented Brienne back in the day from picking fights with people who dared shame her when she went to public school. She did not yield to anyone and prided herself on it. But as she grew older, Brienne realized that she would have spared her family and herself a great many troubles, had she changed her mind, had she been wiser.</p><p>So yes, she yielded, not to him, surely, but to the circumstance. Because Brienne wants to be wiser, she has to be wiser. So no, she didn’t give in to the detective for his sake, but because she understood that there was no other way to make him move and to keep herself moving.</p><p>Brienne changed her mind, if only just enough to change the path but not the direction. And the detective can count himself lucky that she decided to act wiser than she would have liked to.</p><p>
  <em>Even if he taunts me for my restraints, they are what kept me from punching him in the nose.</em>
</p><p>She shakes the building tension out of her wrists, splashing little droplets across the tiled ground. Brienne hates that, suddenly having to think of her balled fists and how much they give away to a man like Detective Lannister.</p><p>His ability to read people notwithstanding, Brienne is still furious with him. The detective had no right to dig through her personal history the way he did. Or rather, the way his brother and his friends did at his behest.</p><p>Brienne made sure that none of this would spoil the investigation. She wants to keep private <em>private</em>. But no such luck with this man. Now the detective she meant to work alongside with thinks she is just some hopeless romantic, trying to fulfill her fantasies of being a detective instead of a pathologist working at the convent of the Silent Sisters.</p><p>She was almost foolishly hopeful when he kept complimenting her on her findings. Brienne wanted to believe that this man would know to make the difference, but apparently, he is not as special as he believes himself to be. In the end, he is just like all the other men she met – disappointing and egotistic.</p><p>To then have him tell her story, as though he knew, it wounded her more than Brienne knows it should have. After all, that detective doesn’t care. And yet, it cut her deep. As though some pieces of evidence in old newspapers captured the whole story about her engagement, about her brother, her father, about herself. As though he could figure her out in all detail in a matter of days. Because Brienne knows from her work just how much effort it takes to tell the story, to find undeniable truths.</p><p>But that’s not his approach, is it? It’s about assuming things, making quick judgments based on evidence and instinct. Thus, Brienne rationally knows that she shouldn’t get worked up about those matters. And yet, she does.</p><p>
  <em>Irrationality is seldom rational.</em>
</p><p>What infuriated her foremost was that he even dared to dig into Galladon’s case, poke his fingers at it with the same nonchalance with which he eats sandwiches in the morgue. But Brienne won’t stand for it that he defiles this matter, too. Galladon’s case is her responsibility and will be until she can find the means necessary to figure out the truth and make his voice ring even now that he is in the Seven Heavens.</p><p>Brienne slips further down in the tub until her head is underwater and the world above her turns blurry. One day, she will find out what happened to him. So he may rest easy. So her father may. So she may, in the knowledge that justice was served at last. That the story was heard, won’t be washed up by Tarth’s shores like he was.</p><p>The young woman resurfaces with a gasp when her lungs start burning from holding her breath for too long. She can taste the damp air through ragged breaths as the images of her father crying come to mind, all blurry and yet so clear to her mind, no matter how many years passed since. How he mourned and gave up on finding out the truth and forced her to yield as well. For reasons she cannot comprehend, no matter how hard she tries. Her father never gave up, but on that one matter, he did. And to this day, he expects her not to try again, when he was the one to teach her to always stand back up and try again.</p><p>But she will find out the truth, in her brother’s name, and her father’s, too.</p><p><em>Make daddy proud</em>. Brienne snaps her head around, sending waves through the tub nearly flowing over the edge. The detective is definitely getting too far under her skin. Surely, she’d mean to make her father proud. Most children want to do just that. And what’s wrong with it?</p><p>Neither can she find any wrong in changing her lifestyle as she did. It was a conscious choice born out of a necessity of her own creation. It was the best for everyone that she stepped down from the family company. As much as she loathes to admit, the Detective was right: Se never really had much interest in the business itself.</p><p>But Brienne would have done it for her father. And so, leaving it was a small price to pay. After all, not just her father’s livelihood depends on the business running. He employs about half the island of Tarth in this way or the other. She couldn’t have looked at her ungainly image in the mirror ever again, had she become responsible for all of those people losing their livelihoods.</p><p><em>You are a hopeless romantic</em>. Maybe she is, so what? Brienne found that the world often lacked any form of idealism, which made the Silent Sisters such a beacon of hope for her in her darkest hours. Because they stand for something and live by it. They commit themselves to their vows and promises, which is rare enough in a world where people so often say one thing and mean another.</p><p><em>You want to </em>fuck<em>. You want to be fucked</em>. She really should have hit him for that remark alone. Brienne grabs the washcloth and scrubs her arms till she can feel the small pains of her skin inflaming from the friction. That man doesn’t even know the half of it – because his research was not that thorough, after all. Her vows to the Silent Sisters don’t stand in the way of her wishes. Far from it.</p><p><em>You want to lose control, but only to someone you can trust</em>. Brienne lets the washcloth trail down her body, savoring the pressure against her heated skin, though she doesn’t want to want it. Her control is all she has. Her lack of control is what nearly cost her everything. And she can’t trust anyone to keep her in control in her stead. Not when it comes to this, if at all.</p><p><em>You want to be held close and kissed, rough.</em> She knows that no man would want her, would need her. Someone who’d be rough with her, maybe, but no one to need that body and what’s lingering underneath its ungainly design. Brienne saw it with the men she dated or she thought she dated until she found out it was a bet or simply a joke. She sees it in her own reflection every morning, brushing her teeth, clipping back her hair to put on the veil. For that, it doesn’t take a profiler’s mind and expertise. She won’t ever be wanted in that way, needed in that way.</p><p>Her hand is pressing down a little harder at the thought. Because there is still need where there should be none. And that is infuriating to no end. She prayed so hard, she worked so hard. And yet, she finds herself so easily on that edge, wanting, needing things that are foolish, still none the wiser.</p><p><em>You want someone to overpower you, tear off your clothes and make you scream for the Gods as you come undone after years of not getting anything beyond what the five finger discount may provide</em>. She certainly would hit anyone who dared to destroy her robes. And it was even bolder of the man to assume that anyone would dare or manage to overpower her. Not even in the times when Brienne thought this could be part of her life did she ever let any man overpower her. She didn’t let it happen with Humfrey either, who thought he could just tell her that she was expected to follow his rules, be the housewife and bear his child. The moment he spilled those words into the world, Brienne ended it. And she won’t ever let another man come that close again.</p><p>Brienne mewls softly as her hand presses the washcloth between her legs, feeling her muscles tighten yet aching for more than the pressure. It is something she means to give up on, something Brienne bid adieu to when she put on the robes for the first time what feels like a lifetime ago.</p><p>It’s a sensation she foolishly chased when she didn’t yet truly know Humfrey and how his want for her was only ever a means to an end that was not her satisfaction, even less so her love. Brienne thought that a man like him should know to treat her with respect. She foolishly believed that someone like him should know how to make <em>this</em> feel good, better than she herself could in her own bedroom on Tarth, fantasizing about her teenage crush touching her down there. <em>Which surely was a grave misjudgment</em>. Brienne moves her fingers in the juncture of her legs absently, allows the world to become as blurry as it does when she is underwater. She lets control fleet from her, bleed into the water without a trace of color.</p><p>She grinds her teeth, unable to help herself but to press harder and move faster as the washcloth slips away to leave skin on skin, chasing release from the shackles of this ache she wants to rid herself of, chasing a lack of control she is otherwise so desperate to maintain. Brienne doesn’t want to ache for this, even less so does she want to ache for someone else to touch her, to make her lean into this touch and rely on someone else to break her free from it.</p><p><em>You want to lose yourself in lust and desire and feel no ounce of shame for that body anymore. To either remember that sensation again or get to know just what it is like.</em> Brienne pants heavily, only ever remembering the sensation of wanting to get to know what it’s like to be able to lose herself into someone else’s arms and just give in to this sensation, this ache.</p><p>Brienne can feel her muscles tighten as hazy images turn to fantasies of not being in a bathtub all alone, easing an ache. Her skin grows hot as the fantasies take shape. Shadows turn to fingers. Feathery touches turn to someone gripping her tight, holding her in place, seizing control without leaving her to it, holding her close and closer still. She almost feels like someone else is touching her, needy and wanting and panting her name in her ear, taking her and taking her as she is.</p><p>
  <em>Come for me, Sister. Be mine, Sister. Sister, Sister Bri…</em>
</p><p>“… <em>enne. This is Detective Lannister. Just as a heads-up, the coin seems a bit of a dead end. It is no rare item that could give us a buyer. My brother’s friend was able to trace it back to 69 AC. And I will spare you the sixty-nining jokes now. If you don’t know what that means… look it up on online. Anyway, just wanted to let you know. Seven blessings and all</em>.”</p><p>Brienne’s head shoots back so that she hits the back of it against the bathtub. She ignores the pain, still gasping for air as her world turns very clear again, reminding her painfully much of her own predicament in a bathtub with the water run cold, for a few seconds even having had her imagination lead as far astray as to this wretched man shouting out her name.</p><p>
  <em>Thank the Seven this is the furthest from the truth as it can be.</em>
</p><p>Because this man, <em>most certainly</em>, is not her savior, and even if she were to foolishly imagine him to be – which she is not – he made it very clear that this is not his role to play. To him, this probably is all just a game anyway and Brienne, once again, is getting in over her head.</p><p>Brienne quickly grabs the washcloth again and scrubs herself thoroughly another time before leaving the cold bath behind for good. Wrapped in a white hotel robe, she feels much safer than she did, exposed to herself in the tub.</p><p>
  <em>You want to feel that body you learned to hate.</em>
</p><p>Brienne lets out a shuddered breath as she replays the message on the recorder, pushing those dark images far away to where they belong – a place deep within even she can hardly reach.</p><p>“<em>Hello Sister Brienne. This is Mr. Lannister. Just as a heads-up, the coin seems a bit of a dead end. It is no rare item that could give us a buyer. My brother’s friend was able to trace it back to 69 AC. And I will spare you the sixty-nining jokes now. If you don’t know what that means… look it up on online. Anyway, just wanted to let you know. Seven blessings and all</em>.”</p><p>She shakes herself at the comment about the sex position, not letting her fantasy entertain that thought for just a second. Brienne repeats the message a few times, lets the words wash over her to take with them any damp echo still daring to linger in the bathroom.</p><p>He told her to focus on what is more recent. And Brienne reckons he has the rights of it in that regard. It’s easier to focus on Ros instead of Yarwick, who was undeniably a shady character at best. So what can she make of this information? What light does it shed on the man whose head was crushed and equipped with said coin?</p><p>A smile creeps up her lips. <em>69. Now, if that doesn’t make for a third number that may well stand on a page.</em></p><p>Brienne walks over to her phone and starts to dial, finding her heart beating faster with every beep. Because there is a chance, however small, that she can still regain things, can regain control, not over how to run this investigation perhaps, but to keep it going in the direction she means to go.</p><p>Now there is just two things to ask: Is her hypothesis correct? And if so, which book may it be? And Brienne will know the former if she can figure out the latter.</p><p>She settles down, ignoring the dull ache between her legs, pushing any lingering images of what could never be just as far down as the rest to where it’s dark and blurry and out of her reach.</p><p>“Septon Meribald?” she puffs, crossing her legs even tighter when she hears the man picking up the phone, gravely regretting the sudden wave of heated pressure it sends from her core to the tip of her ears.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“This is Sister Brienne,” Brienne coughs lightly. “I need to speak to the Elder Brother. Is he around somewhere?”</p><p>“In his study, surely,” the septon answers, his voice cheerily as ever.</p><p>“Can you gather him for me by any chance?” she asks. “I hope he can help me on an important matter regarding the case I am currently working on.”</p><p>“Still the investigation in King’s Landing you kept going on and on about before you departed?” Meribald asks casually.</p><p>Brienne nods her head. “Yes.”</p><p>Did she speak about it that much? She can’t recall.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I am more obvious than I would have thought myself to be after all…</em>
</p><p>Back then, Brienne was still foolishly excited to meet the man whose every word she devoured for the sake of her study – and her self-study, for the one story she didn’t yet get to tell. She remembers that much, but she didn’t believe she let that past her barriers. After all, Brienne hopes to keep herself better guarded.</p><p>
  <em>Because you wouldn’t let anyone near close that armor of yours. You wouldn’t ever let someone have that much control over you, would you?</em>
</p><p>Brienne shakes her head. Now is not the time.</p><p>“Hold on, I will get him for you,” Septon Meribald announces, and Brienne is more than glad for both the distraction and the offer. “Most kind of you.”</p><p>“Oh, you know how much I like walking around,” the older man laughs.</p><p>“You will go on a pilgrimage soon again, I assume?” Brienne asks.</p><p>“Life is a pilgrimage, Sister Brienne. We just don’t know to where it’s headed, safe for the final destination that unites us all.”</p><p>“True again,” she agrees.</p><p>Brienne likes the company of Septon Meribald at the convent, in fact, she came to treasure it dearly. He is easy to get along with and a most gifted storyteller. When she had only just arrived at the convent, Septon Meribald was the first to truly make her feel welcome at this place, like she was indeed one of them.</p><p>
  <em>And thankfully, he gets along very well with Goodwin, too, which gave me a lot more time without some watchful eyes on me.</em>
</p><p>Brienne knows for a fact that they spend a great many nights drinking arbor red together, one of the few indulgences that he did not purge himself of throughout the years. That leaves Brienne enough time and space to her own affairs. She knows it’s all intended well, and Goodwin is not the nosy kind, but his presence always reminds her of her father and his worries.</p><p>
  <em>And a lack of trust in the end, isn’t it? It appears I am my father’s daughter after all.</em>
</p><p>“Ah, there he is. I will hand you over. Be safe, Sister. I shall pray for you while afoot,” Meribald tells her.</p><p>“Thank you very much. I pray for your safe return, too. Seven blessings to you.”</p><p>“And to you.”</p><p>She can hear Meribald muttering a few words as he hands the phone over to the Elder Brother.</p><p>“… Hello, Sister Brienne.”</p><p>“Elder Brother. Seven blessings to you.”</p><p>“And to you,” he replies. “So. Is all well?”</p><p>“Of course,” Brienne lies. The pause on the other end of the line tells her of her immediate defeat, however. Though thankfully, the Elder Brother is not one to pressure you for answers about yourself. He just plants a seed there and lets you figure it out on your own.</p><p>“How can I be of assistance?” he asks instead.</p><p>“I hope I remember correctly, but don’t you have a private collection of early editions of the <em>Seven Pointed-Star</em>?” Brienne questions.  </p><p>“I don’t want to call it a <em>private</em> collection as we took our vow of poverty. Anyone is free to study them,” he corrects her. She can hear the smile even through the phone.</p><p>“I know that very well, as I myself had the luck to study them for my theses. Which is why I hope you can help me yet again,” Brienne explains.</p><p>“And what can I do for you exactly?” the older man wants to know.</p><p>“Find a few words in the different versions. I may have a code I’d mean to solve with the aid of the holy text,” Brienne answers, toying with the edge of one of the folders laid out on the table. She asked the chief for permission during their last conversation, in preparation.</p><p>
  <em>Because you can play by the book and still be fast if you plan and think ahead.</em>
</p><p>“I’d be happy to help,” the Elder Brother answers.</p><p>Brienne smiles. “Most kind of you. I greatly appreciate it. Do you have the time now or shall I call in later?”</p><p>“Are lives at stake that we figure this out timely?”</p><p>“Yes,” she confirms.</p><p>“Then it is out of question that I will take the time now, Sister.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Brienne smiles.</p><p>“You are doing the work of the Seven, Sister Brienne.”</p><p>“I pray I do.”</p><p>She has to. Or else all will have been for nothing. And all Brienne will ever feel is the great emptiness constantly threatening to devour her. Brienne will fight that for as long as she can. She will make that life matter, not just for herself, not just for her father, not just for Galladon.</p><p>“Then we shall begin.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Because no matter what the detective may say, Brienne is here for the dead and the living. It is her vow – and she has any intention to keep it. That is what she has control over in life, and no one can take it away from her. No one will make her move away from that direction. Detours, maybe, but she won’t yield, not when it comes to this. Not now, not ever.</p><p>She may be a woman on a mission, but her mission is not just about herself.</p><p>And Brienne won’t rest until she achieved her goal.</p><p>Because there is nothing else she’d have business wanting. And even if she does, she will find a way to control that storm within her time and time again.</p><p>Because this is a useless effort, but her mission is not.</p>
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